The Mentalist: Boy Wonder
by Donnamour1969
Summary: CONCLUSION POSTED! Collaboration with the awesome starry19. Travel back in time to when Jane first meets Angela. It's hate at first sight, but outside forces and fate push them together. We promise it doesn't end in tragedy. It is a love story. Take a chance! Humor/Romance. Rated T/M for language and sexuality.
1. Chapter 1

A/N: I'm so excited and honored to be writing this fic with starry19, one of the most talented writers on this site. We tend to think alike, yet she is more introspective in her prose, while I'm more focused on dialogue. I think we'll mesh well, but I'll leave it up to you fine readers to judge.

This is an origin story, of how Jane and Angela met and fell (eventually) in love. There is no Lisbon to be found, but I hope that doesn't dissuade you from enjoying this. The Jane we know and love today wouldn't be who he is if it weren't for Angela, and I personally would love a flashback episode one day to know what kind of woman could have tamed the savage Jane. Until that happens, we have fanfiction. Remember, Jane is very young here, and has not honed his talents to the level we see on the show. This is before the pain of Red John, before true love changes him and vengeance consumes him. I hope you enjoy what we do here. This first chapter is mine…

**Boy Wonder**

**Chapter 1**

_California, 1990_

He could hear the distant sounds of the carnival—the music from the rides, the cheerful clinks and bells from the games, the laughing, screaming, and general hubbub of the crowd. But Patrick Jane was glad to be away from it, wished in fact he couldn't hear anything at all except for the pounding of his own heart and Julie's panting breaths as she lay beneath him on the blanket. He couldn't afford a car, and Julie had come with friends, so their only option for a romantic liaison was a brief hike into the darkness and a frantic tumble beneath a eucalyptus tree. This was fine with Jane, and, from Julie's soft mews of delight, it was more than fine with her.

This was the last night of the carnie company's three-night stint at the Solano County Fairgrounds, and he'd first seen Julie on night one. He'd been hanging out at the petting zoo with Pete, helping him feed the animals, when the cute brunette with the nice ass had wandered over with her friends. She'd taken one look at Patrick, and liked what she saw. While he'd watered the elephants, he'd discovered she was a senior in high school, up for anything, and she loved curly haired blondes with devilish smiles. His kind of girl.

So he'd flirted, and he'd winked, and had old Daisy "accidentally" spray her and her giggly friends. It had worked like a charm. Julie had come back to the carnival every night and watched his Boy Wonder show three times. The first night he'd bought her a snow cone, cotton candy, and "won" her a teddy bear at the shooting gallery (he owed Jimmy big time for rigging that one for him). Night two, he'd slipped away with her after his last show and kissed her senseless behind the House of Mirrors. Night three, he'd grabbed her hand, turned on a flashlight in the other, and pulled her far from the madding crowd to the strategically placed blanket he'd left for them. He had exactly a half-hour before his next show, after which he had private readings, then his father was expecting him to help the other carnie folk begin tearing down the Midway rides. Thirty minutes was all he was going to have with Julie, and he was going to make the most of it.

If there was something Patrick could do better than pretending to know all and see all, it was sex. He had it down to a science. Take care of the girl first—five to ten minutes. Then, five minutes was all for him, ending with both of them happy. He'd mix it up sometimes to entertain himself—start from the bottom and move to the top. Slow down his rhythm. Speed it up. Thrust his hips differently; maybe throw in a little swivel action. And, on the rare occasions he had more time (and a bed) well, the poor girl wouldn't be able to walk straight for a week.

"Oh, Patrick," Julie was saying, as he rolled off of her and dispensed with the hastily applied condom. "That was…" She was at a loss for words, but with Julie, that wasn't such a bad thing.

"Yeah, baby, I know just what you mean."

He held up his wrist and pressed the small button on the side of his digital watch to illuminate the time. Ten minutes to spare. He grinned and enjoyed the aftermath of a job well and efficiently done, closing his eyes and listening as Julie's breathing began to calm. Then, from a distance, came the plaintive call of one of Julie's friends.

"Julie! Come back! Your dad showed up looking for you!"

"What? Holy shit!"

Julie got to her feet as if spring-loaded. She pulled down her mini skirt (she hadn't been wearing panties, God love her), and fumbled with reclosing the front clasp of her bra. The moment she pulled down her tight pink t-shirt, she slipped on one matching pink Ked, but couldn't find the other. There ensued a frantic search around the rumpled blanket and its perimeter, while Jane watched her in amusement.

"Julie!" came her friend's voice again.

"Dammit!" Julie muttered, then: "I'm coming!"

What? Again? Jane said to himself in supreme satisfaction. He realized suddenly that the lump beneath the edge of his side of the blanket wasn't a clump of grass. With a wide grin, he tossed Julie her shoe.

"Looking for this?"

"Oh, God, thanks!"

Then, shoe in place, she took a moment to lean down and slip her tongue between his lips in gratitude, her hands delving into his close-cropped curls. She still tasted of cotton candy.

"Hmm," he said against her mouth. "Look me up when we're back this way next year, sweetheart."

"It's a date," she said on a sigh.

"Julie Marie Tillman!" It was a decidedly masculine voice this time. "Get your ass back to this parking lot!" With a small eek, Julie Tillman ran out of his life for good.

Sighing heavily, Jane sat up, re-buttoning his shirt and adjusting the black vest he wore. He pulled up his faded Levi's, not bothering to tuck in his shirt. He was about to slip on his penny loafers, when the sudden click and flash of a lighter drew his attention to a nearby tree. He saw the flare of a cigarette tip igniting and heard a feminine sigh of satisfaction as she took a long drag.

"You like to watch or something?" he called to his visitor.

He heard her exhale the smoke she'd held in her lungs, then reply in a throaty voice that skated along his spine: "I sort of missed the first act, but that ending was pretty entertaining. Better than a sitcom without the laugh track."

Now, normally this was a situation where Patrick might be highly amused, but something about this girl grated on him. Though he didn't actually hear it, he knew she was laughing at him, and that wasn't a reaction he was used to getting from a girl. He put on his shoes and stood up, shaking out the blanket. He could barely make out the outline of a slender frame in the moonlight, and a bob of indecipherably colored hair.

"You ever heard of respecting people's privacy?" he asked.

She blew smoke his way and chuckled dryly. "Hey, I was just taking a walk, minding my own business, when I stumbled upon this interesting little scene. I had no idea this was the local lover's lane; I just needed a smoke."

"It can be pretty dangerous for a girl out here, alone in the dark," he said menacingly. "All kinds of weirdos hang out at the carnival." He didn't know why, but he wanted to scare her, put her in her place somehow. She only laughed and blew out more smoke. He hated girls who smoked.

"Julie didn't seem too scared. As a matter of fact, she seemed to enjoy your uh…company."

He wadded up the blanket and shoved it beneath his arm, then switched on his flashlight. He couldn't resist shining it in the girl's direction. She didn't act surprised or annoyed by his action, just stood casually, puffing away at her cigarette. Jane, however felt like he was the deer in the headlights. The girl was gorgeous. Light brown, sun streaked hair in a sleek bob, her long legs encased in dark jeans. Her upper body's shape was disappointingly hidden by an oversized t-shirt, though it hung tantalizingly off one bare shoulder. Amused brown eyes squinted at him in the bright beam of light, as her full lips sensually encircled her cigarette, leaving a rose colored circle of lip gloss. He swallowed.

"Now who likes to watch?" she said, flicking her ash into the sandy loam beneath her sandaled feet.

He lowered the flashlight at once. A loud beeping broke the spell, and Jane automatically hit a button on his watch. It was almost time for his next show.

"Shit," he said. "I'm late."

"Your next conquest waiting in the wings?" she asked.

"No. I've got a show to do."

"Oh, you're a carnie. I should have known."

"What's that supposed to mean?" he asked, unaccountably offended at her tone.

"I admit you're not the usual grungy looking guy you see working at a carnival, but you're still like all the other men who do—a floozy in every port, or maybe a lot lizard who follows the carnival from town to town."

He couldn't deny it, so he didn't bother trying.

"So what is it you do?" she persisted curiously. "You're not built enough to be the strong man, and I see no visible tattoos or weird deformities. Magician, maybe?"

"Not exactly. Psychic," he said, and he didn't know why that admission embarrassed him all of a sudden. It was a good living, though perhaps not exactly an honest one.

"Ah," she said knowingly. "You're Wonder Boy."

"Boy Wonder," he corrected her, but that seemed to sound even worse to his ears.

"So, you any good, Wonder Boy?" she asked, ignoring his correction. "Can you tell what's in a woman's purse at fifty feet? Communicate with someone's dead grandmother whose crossed over?"

He took a step toward her. "Oh, I'm good, all right. At all kinds of things."

He couldn't see her smirk, but he could somehow sense it. Maybe he was psychic.

"Yeah, I'll bet, if Julie's screams were any indication. Maybe I'll check out your show. I mean, your other show." She chuckled softly at her own joke. Patrick wasn't laughing, but she didn't seem to care.

"Yeah, you do that. Well, it's been real, but I gotta go," he said, feeling decidedly lame. What was it with this girl?

"I'm not stopping you, am I?"

"Nope," and as far as last words went, that was about as lame as it got. He kicked himself all the way back to the carnival lights, thinking in hindsight of all the clever things he might have said to her, but she'd somehow taken him off balance, annoyed the hell out of him, and turned him on, all at the same time. In his mind's eye he could still see her where he'd left her in the moonlight with her cigarette, and he kicked himself once more for not asking her name. What the hell was wrong with him?

His father was waiting impatiently for him at the rear of the Boy Wonder tent.

"You're late, Paddy."

"I know, I know," Patrick said in annoyance, brushing past him before he could open his mouth to lambast him further. He went into his small dressing area, buttoned his vest, and put on his long, red brocade suit coat with the velvet collar. He wouldn't have time to change out of his jeans, but he pulled on his knee-high black boots, and tied the black cravat at his neck. He took one look at the silly gold and red turban on his mirrored vanity and rebuffed it in disgust, telling himself it had nothing to do with the notion that the girl with the cigarette might actually show up to watch him. It was time to streamline his act, to make himself seem more sophisticated and mysterious, like David Copperfield, for example. David Copperfield never wore a stupid turban.

He was moving toward the opening of the stage, when his father's hand grabbed his forearm.

"Put on your turban, Paddy," Alex Jane all but growled.

"I'm tired of that damn thing. It's hot and sweaty and makes me look ridiculous. I'm twenty years old, Dad, don't you think it's time I updated my image?"

"Shit, Paddy. Again with that? Look, I let you change your image three years ago, and this is what you came up with yourself."

It was definitely better than the Boy Scout inspired outfit he used to wear, complete with short pants and bandana around his neck.

"Well, the turban was your idea," Patrick added petulantly.

His father gave a sigh of supreme impatience.

"Look, I just had word an hour ago that the new owners of the carnival showed up unexpectedly to look over the place, see what works and what they can get away with cutting. I don't plan on our act being the one that gets the ax, so if it ain't broke, don't even try to fix it, especially not tonight. Now put that goddamn turban on and give 'em what they paid for, understand?"

Patrick shrugged off the older man's grip and grabbed the offending hat. He looked quickly in the mirror to make sure it was on straight, took a deep breath, and waited for his father to go out and introduce him.

His act went very much as usual, starting simply with guessing the contents of a few purses, then a few cold readings that had the crowd oohhing and awwwing at his "powers," but then he ended with his most popular talent: connecting with the Great Beyond. The other stuff was mainly guesswork, using mentalist skills he'd learned from reading and watching other mentalists. But this psychic medium act was what elicited the greatest emotional responses, had people filling the hat Alex passed around after each successful communication with a lost loved one. But it was also the most difficult part of his act to appear convincing. He had to force himself to believe his own crap, at least for appearances' sake.

At first, Patrick had looked for Cigarette Girl to arrive, but when he didn't see her, he settled easily into the groove of his work and managed to push the image of her moist lips wrapped around her cigarette to the back of his mind. He was about to end the show, when the flap of the tent opened once more, and in stepped…her.

"I, uh, have time for one more foray into the other side, ladies and gentleman," he said, his heart picking up speed at the sight of her. She was even more beautiful in the fully lit tent. Several hands went up, but Patrick only had eyes for the girl with the rose-lipped pout and the raised eyebrows.

"How about you, little lady?" he asked Cigarette Girl. "I'm sensing you've experienced a recent loss in your life." He closed his eyes and grasped the microphone dramatically. "I'm sensing it was…a woman. Yes. She's waiting to hear from you…she misses you. It's your…grandmother…no, your great grandmother. You called her…Granny." He opened his eyes to see the girl standing in the back of the tent, still as stone.

"Yes," she said softly, but her voice carried to the stage like a loudspeaker. A few in the audience gasped.

"And Granny, she called you…her little…angel. Am I right?"

Cigarette Girl paled slightly, but nodded her agreement.

Patrick felt a sudden, unfathomable connection with her that went far beyond his intuitive guesses. He surprised the hell out of his dad as well as himself when he took the microphone off its stand and hopped down from the stage to walk closer to his mark. He strolled to the very back of the tent where Cigarette Girl leaned casually against a tent pole.

Her brown eyes widened at his approach, and when Patrick tentatively reached out to take her hand, a jolt of pure electricity coursed through his body. He struggled to gather his wits, and then he caught the brief flash of amusement in her gaze. It suddenly hit him that he was being played, but good. But despite his sudden, intense anger, for the sake of his job, the show must go on.

"I can feel Granny in the room with us," Patrick said, squeezing the girl's hand a little more tightly than he should. His actions only made her lips quirk so quickly he thought he'd imagined it.

"She says…"-and he closed his eyes for effect-"'Angel, you must stop smoking behind your father's back. Stop hiding your nasty habit beneath the cover of darkness. You don't want to die of cancer, like I did…'"

She tried to release his hand, but he wouldn't let her, and now, when he opened his eyes, they held the spark of amused satisfaction, while she wrestled with her extreme annoyance.

"'I'm here to save you from a horrible death,'" he said, continuing to channel Granny. "'Put away the cigarettes; if not for yourself, then for me…will you please, my sweet, sweet Angel?"

"Yes," said the girl tightly.

The audience applauded, and he brought the girl's hand up to his lips before releasing her with a flourish. Her freed hand tightened into a fist at her side. Patrick smiled at her and then to the crowd.

"Thank you, ladies and gentleman," his father was saying from the stage. "But this kind of connection always tires poor Patrick. Please, give him a little something extra for his efforts. And remember, he does give private readings for an hour after the show."

There'd be hell to pay later for his unorthodox reading, but at that moment, Patrick couldn't care less. He'd gotten the better of Cigarette Girl; that was all that mattered.

"Good night, everyone," Patrick added, turning back to the crowd. "And I'd like to end my show with a bit of advice: always keep an open mind."

There was more applause, and the passed hat was quickly filled to the brim with cash from the highly entertained customers. Patrick walked back to the stage door, but couldn't resist glancing back to where he'd left the angry girl. He shouldn't have been surprised that she was gone, but he tried to suppress his disappointment.

Back stage, he took off the turban and collapsed tiredly into his dressing room chair. He stared at himself in the vanity mirror. Many women had called him beautiful, and he used to hate that description. He'd wanted to look tough, but he'd been cursed with pretty boy looks that were a constant source of ribbing from the other carnie kids. When older women started paying attention to him, and when he discovered that his charm made them give him more money, he began to see the positive side of his "curse." That's why it rankled that Cigarette Girl seemed immune.

"What have I told you about smoking, young lady?" came a man's low, gruff voice from outside the rear entrance of his tent.

"Dad, I'm eighteen, old enough to decide what I want to do with my lungs."

"You're still under my roof, girl, and your mother and I don't want you smelling up the trailer with that dirty habit of yours."

Patrick grinned. Cigarette Girl was in trouble with Daddy. Serves her right.

Then, to his surprise, the door flap was lifted, and she and a giant walked in like they owned the place. Patrick got quickly to his feet.

"Uh, excuse me, but if you're looking for private readings, my father handles those in the main stage area."

"Sit down, son," said the man, who looked like he'd just walked off a bottle of Mr. Clean, down to the impossibly large muscles, thick neck, and bald head. "We're not here to arrange any private anythings; this is strictly business."

Patrick lowered himself slowly back into his chair. "Business? My father handles the business."

"Oh, come on, psychic boy; I thought you would be better than that," he said with an amused grin, vaguely reminiscent of his daughter's. Jane looked from the father to the girl and back again, and the truth hit him like a punch in the nose.

"You're the Ruskins," he said in awe. The new owner of the carnival company was Ruskin Attractions, and he'd been played by none other than the boss's daughter. A slow smile spread across her beautiful face at his pole-axed expression.

"Hi again, Wonder Boy," said the new bane of his existence.

"It's Boy—"he began angrily, but her father intervened.

"I'm Teddy Ruskin, by the way. I was listening just outside the tent door. You were pretty good, kid."

"He didn't really talk to Granny though," said the girl. "Half of what he said was pure bullshit."

Ruskin directed an annoyed glare at his daughter. "Language, missy. He got enough right, I'd say."

"Ha. Granny's alive and well in San Diego. I'd say that's a pretty big miss."

Patrick shrugged sheepishly. "It's not an exact science."

"It's not a science at all," she replied haughtily, "unless swindling naïve women is a science."

"Got your name right, though, didn't he? Granny does call you Angel, Angela."

Patrick raised his eyebrows. Angela. Well, she might look like an angel…

"And he wasn't wrong about your smoking either. You fairly reek of it."

"Well, there was nothing psychic about that guess. He saw me smoking after he screwed a groupie out by the parking lot."

Teddy Ruskin directed menacing eyes at Patrick. "No carousing with the customers, boy. I won't have this company sued for sexual harassment, you got me?"

Angela crossed her arms over her chest, smirking at Patrick with laughing brown eyes.

That interfering bitch, he thought.

Well now they were at an impasse. He could already tell he'd have to find out something else to hold over her or there'd be no stopping her. He'd met her less than an hour ago, and already she was well on her way to ruining his life.

"Yes, sir," he replied finally, his jaw set and tense.

"Good. See, Angela, another right answer. Your name really Patrick, like it says on the sign?"

"Yeah."

"Well, Patrick, I think it'll be a pleasure having you work for me. As a matter of fact, you could really help me out if you take my son, Danny, under your wing. Teach him the business."

"Daddy, no—"

"Hush, little girl. Daddy's doing business here. Danny's got some real potential, but he's a bit, shall we say, untamed. You help me straighten him out and put him on the road to success, I'll bring you along, Patrick."

"Look, I appreciate the offer, but my father—"

"Your father is happy to do anything for the Ruskins," said Alex Jane, as he came to the back of the tent via the stage entrance. He held out a hand to Teddy Ruskin, and Jane watched his father's hand disappear into the giant man's paw.

"Alex Jane, sir. Great to meet you."

"Likewise, Jane, likewise. I was just telling your boy here he'd be a great influence on my son."

"Yeah, I heard that part." Alex walked over to Patrick, clasping him firmly on the shoulder. "Patrick would love to help, wouldn't you Patrick?"

His eyes were both imploring and threatening, and Patrick knew if he refused his father, there would be hell to pay—he'd learned that long ago.

"Sure," he said tightly.

"Good, good. Great to hear it," said Ruskin, as if there had been any doubt of his acceptance. "Look, Jane, we're going to travel with the team for the next few gigs, get to know the people, possibly do some streamlining. We brought our own trailer and everything. It'll be like old times when you kids were little, eh, Angela?"

"Sure, Dad," she said coldly.

What's this? The Carnival Princess didn't like the family business? Interesting.

He could work with this.

"Well, we'll talk more later, Jane. Patrick, I'll send Danny round tomorrow. I know it'll be a busy day, what with the teardown and pack-up, but Danny needs to know the sweaty side of the business too, right?"

"That's what I've always said to Patrick, Mr. Ruskin."

"Teddy, please. Hey, great show, Patrick, sincerely. But we gotta do something about that costume. Turbans went out with Johnny Carson."

"Yeah, I was just telling Paddy the same thing," Alex lied.

Patrick kept his face obediently blank.

"Well, good night, Jane family."

"'Night, Teddy," said Alex. "Pleasure meeting you. And you, Miss Ruskin." He nodded to the girl. The two men shook hands again, and Angela and her father exited the tent from whence they'd come.

Patrick didn't wait for his father to excuse him, but trotted out the door after their new employer.

"Hey, Angela," he called. "Could I have a word with your lovely daughter, Mr. Ruskin?"

"Well, aren't you the charmer," said Ruskin. "Sure. Honey, you come right back to the trailer; the carnival's closing in an hour and I want you out of the way of the tear-down."

"Yes, Daddy," she said, but it was easy to see she would rather have escaped Patrick's company altogether. When Ruskin had disappeared into the noisy crush of the Midway, Patrick's kiss-ass smile faded.

"What do you want, Wonder Boy?"

"Look, sweetheart," he said, his tone dangerously soft, "I don't give a rat's ass who your daddy is, you stay out of my personal business."

He made a point of stepping uncomfortably close to her, invading her personal space. She crossed her arms over her chest, clearly unafraid of him, but livid as a wet cat. He tried to ignore how stunning she looked by the flashing colored lights of the carnival, especially close up.

"Oh? You didn't seem to mind getting into mine when you ratted out my smoking. I was just getting even."

"Well, then we're even. Now stay the hell away from me."

"You're the one who chased me out of your tent, Paddy," she pointed out.

"Just wanted to make sure we were on the same page, Angel."

"Don't call me that. Nobody calls me that but my Granny."

"Well, unless you're my father, I generally punch people in the face who call me Paddy."

They were nearly nose-to-nose now, and Jane felt an overwhelming desire to wipe that taunting smirk off her face with a hard, thorough kiss. She saw his intention in time to take a step back, and turned quickly on her heel, leaving him standing on the dusty path.

"See you around, Wonder Boy," she called, but as she walked away, Patrick saw her hand go to her heart, as if to keep it from pounding out of her chest. He got to her too, he realized. The look on her face right before he'd made a move to kiss her was sheer terror. Well, there was some satisfaction in that.

He returned to the tent flap, so preoccupied with thoughts of Angela Ruskin that he nearly ran into his father, who had been listening unabashedly by the door.

"Holy shit, Dad! What's the big idea, eavesdropping?"

"We're in, Paddy, we're in!"

"Yeah, yeah, I was there, Dad, remember?" he said sullenly.

"Well, you be sure and give his boy the royal treatment, you hear? And that Angela girl, well I expect you to start acting more like a gentleman around her. Her family's like royalty, and you need to treat her like the princess she is."

He hated how he and his father thought alike so often, especially about the way they'd both characterized Angela Ruskin as a princess.

"Seems to me she's a spoiled little brat, and I'm not about to cater to daddy's little girl just so you can get in good with the boss."

Alex paused to evaluate his son's demeanor. The boy was worked up, all right, in a way he had never seen him before. It wasn't like him to suddenly lose his charming ways, especially where a beautiful woman was concerned. He replayed in his mind the conversation between them that he'd overheard, and a plan began to form in his mind, like a snake who suddenly spies a helpless rabbit. Alex changed his own attitude immediately, settling in for the long con.

"You need to think about your own future, Paddy, when I'm gone and you've got the run of things."

"I've thought about that a lot, believe me," he said wryly.

"And it's obvious that girl has the hots for you."

"Yeah, right," Patrick said skeptically, but he remembered how Angela's breath had caught audibly as he'd stood so closely to her, how her eyes had fallen to his mouth, then hastily back to his eyes. There was no mistaking her desire, but she was such a bitch, he was sure it wouldn't be worth all the trouble.

Alex resisted lashing back and putting the mouthy boy in his place. There was a big picture here, and he needed Patrick to see it. "That girl is an heir to an empire, son. You get your hooks in her, and you could literally own our world. Just think of it. Everyone here would work for you. And from what I hear, that family owns five more carnivals just like this one, some even bigger. You'd never have to tear down a Ferris wheel again. This would secure your future, Paddy."

"And yours, you mean." He was a bright kid, all right, just like he'd raised him to be.

"Well, uh, sure. I won't lie when I say I worry about where I'll spend my last days. Medical bills are expensive."

Patrick's head jerked up as he looked at his father more closely. "Something you're not telling me, Dad?"

"This isn't really the time, Paddy. You've got a private reading in about five minutes…"

"What's goin' on?"

Alex turned his back to hide his triumphant grin, oddly pleased that Patrick seemed so genuinely alarmed.

"You know when I went into Sacramento the other day?"

"Yeah, you said you were going to the track."

"I did, but it was mainly to see a doctor and get some test results back."

Patrick held his breath.

"And…?"

"And, it's the big C, Paddy. Just like what killed your mama."

"What?"

Patrick felt his world tilt on its axis. He couldn't do this again, watch someone he loved waste away before his eyes in a damn hospital bed. He hated hospitals, had vowed he'd never step foot in one again after that. But mostly he hated feeling helpless and out of control, and while he and his father definitely had their ups and downs, he didn't deserve to die that way. Not to mention it had taken ten years to pay off his mother's hospital bills.

"Yes, prostate cancer," his father was saying. "But the doctor assures me it's in its early stages. But you never know, Paddy. You never know."

"Jesus, Dad. Why didn't you tell me?"

"I was waiting for the right time, but realized there would never be one. That's why I'm trying to think of both our futures here. What if this thing puts me out of commission for a while? And the bills…"

"Jesus," Patrick said again.

"Hey, it's not like the girl is a dog, right? A man can put up with a lot with a looker like that on his arm. Keep an open mind," he added, throwing his own words back at him.

Alex walked over to his son, held him by the shoulders as he looked him in the eyes with the utmost sincerity. "Just think about it, Paddy, okay? Now, don't keep your customer waiting out there…"

Customer? He expected him to go out and give a psychic reading when his head was spinning like a Tilt-a-Whirl?

"But, Dad—"

"No, buts, Son. The show must go on, remember?"

Alex picked up the turban and shoved it into Patrick's numb fingers. "You got this, Paddy. Go make your old man proud."

He watched Patrick slowly put on the hat—without argument—and walk back onto the stage, where Alex had set up a velvet-covered table and dimmed the lights dramatically.

Alex grinned. "I should have started dying years ago," he said to himself. "Kids don't know what's good for 'em. What's a father to do?"

**A/N: Well, please tell us what you think. Starry19 is up next!**


	2. Chapter 2

Starry's AN: I set out to give Angela a story here – basically, we all just know her as Jane's dead wife, but clearly she was much more than that. Jane was a talented man, drop dead gorgeous, and able to make large sums of money. And Angela was the one he came home to. To me, that means she must've been pretty extraordinary.

**Chapter 2**

The carnival circuit wasn't a place she ever wanted to return to, regardless of the fact it had made up the majority of her childhood. Some of her earliest memories were riding the Ferris wheel for what seemed liked hours, or eating cotton candy on the Midway.

It should have been a dream upbringing-the boss's daughter, given unlimited access to whatever she wanted. Every day had been full of rides and games and obscene amounts of junk food.

And leaving.

She couldn't really recall when she had started becoming disillusioned with the whole situation, but she suspected it was about when she turned twelve. Suddenly, the years of travel and freedom started to seem tiresome. She wanted to look out the window in her bedroom every morning and see the same thing.

Or maybe she was just tired of hearing the constant lies and deception that seemed to be everywhere.

"Step right up, this game's an easy winner."

"Would you like your fortune told, ma'am? Madame Kirsch is never wrong."

Of course, no one ever won the game, and Madame Kirsch would cackle after her customers left, counting her stacks of cash, the Gypsy accent dropped for something that came from the wrong side of the railroad tracks.

It was getting to be exhausting, keeping track of what was true and what was fake. In a moment of existential crisis, she had taken the time to wonder if she was even real, or just some creation that had come about under the blinking lights and brightly colored signs.

She hadn't been sad when her father had decided that it was time for her to get a formal education. Teddy Ruskin had done exceptionally well for a second-generation businessman; he hadn't just not blown the family money, he'd doubled it.

However, his childhood hadn't been all gilt-trimmed. There had been hard times indeed, and like most people who pulled themselves up from poverty to wealth, he started insisting on the best.

Fortunately for Angela, there were no private traveling schools that catered to the daughters of carnival owners.

They had moved to Santa Barbara, into a house that was much too large for just four people, furnished by a designer whose taste was questionable, but who was expensive, which was what Teddy Ruskin had been after.

To her intense surprise, he hadn't actually gotten along well in her new school. For one, being Danny's big sister came with its own unique set of problems. For another, she very clearly didn't fit in, despite her matching uniform and overly priced haircut.

All the girls in her class had been lifelong friends, had memories of croquet matches on lawns that were too green, of summers spent on the family yacht, or vacations in Europe.

She had spent her summers wandering through the country, one small, shabby town at a time. It wouldn't surprise her if she had come into contact with a million people-she figured she might remember five or six from her time on the road.

Even at her young age, she knew better than to advertise her upbringing to the world. After all, everyone was a mark, and you protected your own. True, she'd led a privileged life, but there will still certain rules everyone followed.

And besides, who the hell wanted to announce to a group of judgmental pre-teens that you were a carnie? No one with a brain in their head, certainly. There was probably no surer way to be ostracized.

However, it wasn't all bad. She liked the permanence of having a real, actual home that was going to be in the same place it always was. She had an address now, and she took unexpected pleasure in memorizing it.

It was also interesting to note that there were some things that weren't all that different-just like the life she was used to, no one seemed to be telling the truth in the real world either. It was just that they all lied, even to each other, whereas there was generally at least honesty amongst the members of the carnival.

Danny was struggling in his new environment. He missed the freedom greatly, and he was unprepared for the idea that their father couldn't get them out of everything. Teddy didn't own school, didn't own the society that made it up, after all.

As she got older, she could tell that her father missed the life he had grown up with. Although he was proud of what he had, immensely so, there was just something deep in his heart that wanted to hitch up the damn wagons and head off into the sunset.

When she turned eighteen, Teddy had announced that he was buying another traveling company. Naturally, he wanted to go along with them, to see what they were like, what could be improved upon.

Angela had wanted nothing to do with it, but Teddy, worried his only daughter was going to turn her back on her people, had insisted she come along.

The fight that followed had been a blowout.

"I'm not going back," she'd screamed, cheeks an angry red, tears of sheer rage and frustration filling her eyes. "I'm going to college in the fall and getting the hell away from all of this!"

Teddy had simply sneered. "Going to college, huh? How do you intend to pay for that, my dear? Pretty you may be, but pretty doesn't mean you got the grades to get scholarships. You're coming with me, end of discussion."

Angry enough to scream, she had slammed the door in her father's face. His muffled voice filtered through the wood.

"Angela, it's not a permanent thing. You've just been away for so long. It's time to come back." His tone was softer now, imploring. "And it's only for the summer. If you do this, and do it with good grace, I will willingly send you off to whatever college you choose, if you still want to go."

She took a moment to appreciate that Teddy was trying to walk a fine line between giving her what she wanted and what he thought she needed. It didn't make things easier.

"College shouldn't be a bargaining chip," she argued.

"Everything is a bargaining chip, Ang," he countered, not sounding remotely abashed. "My way or no way. Period."

She'd heard his footsteps retreating, and had buried her head in her pillow.

Every argument she made since then had been absolutely pointless. Despite her best efforts, she was apparently going to be spending her entire damn summer roaming around the country like a damn vagabond.

Kiss her walk-in closet goodbye, and the few normal friends she'd managed to make.

In a fit of rebellion, she'd started smoking. She was well aware of the effects it could have, but it didn't seem important. The simple act made her feel like she was in control of something in her life. If she wanted to give herself lung cancer, then by God, it was her choice.

She had almost made herself sick the first time she'd taken a full-on puff. It had been in the parking lot of her high school, sitting with her back against the door of an old Chevy. Two of her girlfriends had been with her, and they had felt very grown up and mature. It was heady feeling, one she wanted to hold on to.

She wasn't sure if she was actually addicted to nicotine, but it was definitely a habit she planned on continuing.

So here she was - stuck in the middle of nowhere, California, trying to remember what it was like to live out of a trailer and to hit the road every two days. It was nearly unbearable.

She had also developed a new contempt for the people around her. Sure, some were alright, but sometimes she just couldn't stand the deceit.

And then there was Patrick Jane. Wonder Boy, as it were. Screwing the locals just before robbing them blind.

If there ever was an embodiment of everything she hated about this life, he would be it.

Arrogant, cocky, so full of himself and his talent that she was surprised his head hadn't exploded yet. Oh, how she would love to be the one to punch a giant hole in his ego.

Of course, her father loved him instantly, even going so far as to suggest Danny work with him to brush up on his skills.

That was outrageous-Danny would do just fine on his own, without some jerk off telling him what to do.

There was no denying that he was handsome. A blind person could figure that out. Unfortunately, Wonder Boy knew it, too, and apparently wasn't shy about using his looks or his sex appeal to get what he wanted.

Someone to be avoided, definitely.

The look in his eyes when he realized she was playing him had been wonderful, though. It had been...fun.

What happened after had been much less fun. He had looked for a moment like he was seriously considering kissing her. If she was being honest, she wasn't sure she would have stopped him. It was like he was magnetic, or something.

Still, she was sure it was nothing more than superficial charm. And she wouldn't be stupid enough to let it work on her again.

It was moving day, and the carnival was a place of organized chaos, tear down crews running everywhere, trailers getting packed up, half-hung over performers stumbling out from wherever they'd spend the night before.

It didn't take her long to find her father, looking, she had to admit, about ten years younger, a crazed sort of energy possessing him. Clearly, he loved where he was, and she felt an unexpected softening in her heart. She quickly squashed it.

Yes, it might have made him happy, but he still had no damn reason to drag her from pillar to post, using her college education as the carrot that kept her moving in the direction he chose.

For lack of anything better to do, she wandered around the grounds, looking absently at the skeletons of rides and attractions.

Next to the ferris wheel, her eye was caught by a flash of golden curls, and she couldn't help but look again.

Patrick Jane was part of a twenty-man crew currently dissembling the big wheel. Already sweating the early morning sun, his skin glistened, and he was shirtless.

She would have had to be totally lacking a pulse to be unaffected by such a scene. And, speaking of pulses, hers was currently racing.

It was too bad the man she had decided to loathe forever was so damn good looking. Sometimes there really was no justice in the world.

Keeping well out of his line of sight, she watched for a bit, noting that Danny was out in the middle of the crew, too. It was a strange occurrence, Danny doing physical work, but it wasn't necessarily a bad thing.

Danny had great ambitions, but sometimes he lacked the sense to pull off some of his more elaborate schemes. Unlike her, he had loved the carnival. He thought of himself as sort of a prince. She knew that sort of attitude was going to be nothing but trouble, at least until he learned how to back his words up with actions. Maybe that would happen now.

By a little after eleven, the entire place was loaded up and ready to head out like the strangest caravan a person would ever meet on the road. Brightly colored trailers pulled wagons that advertised palm readings and ring tosses, and she very clearly saw one that said "The Amazing Boy Wonder." She made a face at it as it passed.

Safely ensconced back in the trailer with her father, she watching the scenery roll by without ever really noticing a single thing. It was all the same-Somewhere She Didn't Want to Be.

It was a quick trip to the next location, just a couple of hours. The show would be on tonight. Oh, joy.

When the water and electricity had been hooked back up, she took a few minutes to put the place in order. Certain things just had to be put away for a trip, no matter how short the journey.

Just before they were due to open, she jumped in the shower, then set about getting ready. She went with full make-up. Just because she was in the middle of nowhere, surrounded by people she didn't like, was no reason not to look as good as possible. Besides, it wasn't like she had anything better to do.

An hour later, hair around her shoulders, wearing shorts as a concession to the heat, she left the trailer, wondering how the hell she was going to survive an entire summer of this.

Danny was nowhere to be found. Probably cooped up with Wonder Boy, figuring out how to be the best crook he could be.

As she walked, she felt almost sorry for the people that surrounded them. Most of them had no idea they were about to be fleeced. They might as well have been baaing and bleating.

Alex Jane was standing next to the Boy Wonder trailer, eagerly promoting his son's show. To continue the sheep metaphor, he was the sinister shepherd. There was something she didn't like about the man, just a feeling she'd gotten.

He seemed...spineless, maybe. Slimy? Definitely unpleasant, and even more untrustworthy than most of the people here. The sort of person that would steal your wallet and then help you look for it.

The summer night was pleasant, and she snagged a bag of cotton candy to enjoy as she perused the perimeters of her new prison.

There was and always had been something a little magical about a carnival at night, like anything could happen. Not even her disdain for the place could dispel that.

"Well, hello again, Angel," came a drawl.

Turning, she saw Patrick Jane leaning casually against the side of a ticket booth, in dark jeans and a button up shirt, complete with vest. He'd had on virtually the same thing the night before, so they were obviously part of his act.

"Oh," she said flatly. "It's you. I figured you'd be out deflowering the townies by now."

He smiled brilliantly. "It's still early in the night, sweetheart. Plenty of time for things like that later." His eyes shadowed abruptly, like he had just remembered something unpleasant. "At least the trip over here wasn't so bad."

"No," she allowed, wondering where the casual conversation was coming from. She had been prepared for sarcastic barbs, not this. "No, I've definitely taken worse rides."

There was a brief pause. "Look," he said, "I think we might have gotten off on the wrong foot."

"No shit?" she asked, starting to fumble through her small purse for the half smoked pack of cigarettes. The ones she had managed to hide from her father. It wasn't like she was going to stop doing something just because he told her to.

"No shit," Patrick verified. "I just want you to know that I do more than roll around in the woods with every girl that crosses my path."

She raised an eyebrow. "So last night was just a freak occurrence?"

"Exactly," he said, smiling now. Having grown up the way she had, she could tell there was something not quite genuine about it, but he was very good, nonetheless. "And I think you should let me prove to you that I'm not the ass you think I am."

Well, that was unexpected. She blinked. "I'm afraid you're going to have to try pretty hard."

His smile grew wider. "I'm not afraid of a little challenge, Angela."

She had no doubt of that. Then again, she also had no doubt that no matter how hard he tried, Patrick Jane was still going to be an arrogant jackass at heart.

When she didn't respond, he kept talking. "Let's go for a ride on the ferris wheel," he suggested, pushing off from the wall he'd been lounging against. "I usually like to get up there the first night, see the whole place laid out."

Though she wouldn't admit it, the Ferris wheel was one of the few things she still took pleasure in at the carnival, especially at night. "Fine," she said, before she thought about it too hard. It wasn't like she wouldn't have gone for a ride herself, but maybe now the townies wouldn't think she was some weirdo, riding by herself. Not that she cared what they thought, of course, but it was always gratifying to be in the company of a good-looking man.

Especially when she saw the group of high school girls waiting in line, clearly on the lookout for potential matches for the night, and Patrick Jane would have made quite the fine prize.

Eventually, it was their turn to be seated. Patrick exchanged a few quips with the operator, someone named Karl, then, still laughing, sat next to her in the small enclosure.

"Just let me know when you want off," Karl told them with a wink before pulling the lever. With a tiny jolt, the wheel started turning slowly again, and Angela peered eagerly over the side, out across the whole lot.

Even this place didn't look so bad from up high. Most of the bad stuff was hidden.

"So," she asked, voice laden with amusement, "when do you start amazing the crowds, Wonder Boy?"

She saw him check his watch. "A few hours. Don't you know that it's easier to communicate with the other side at night?"

"Ah, of course," she replied. "I must've forgotten. Do you mainly do phony readings or are you a fake fortune teller, too?"

He grinned at her casual tone. "Mostly I'm just supposed to be guessing the objects that are being held up. That's getting ridiculously boring though, so I'm trying to expand my horizons. Contacting the dead – that's where the real money is."

"Nothing like preying on people's grief," she noted.

"Nope," he agreed, leaning back, arm across the railing. "People always want to believe that their loved ones aren't ever really gone. I'm willing to help them along in that direction, and they're willing to pay well for it."

She felt both of her eyebrows go up. "You have a heart of gold, has anyone ever told you that?"

"Actually, people tell me that all the time." He wore a challenging expression, like he was daring her to contradict him.

She wasn't going to-people probably did tell them that, just after he told them Great Aunt Edna hid the money under the mattress and that their newly departed husband was watching over them.

Yes, he was quite despicable.

He changed the topic abruptly. "What do you do for fun, Angela? Other than smoke while watching people in compromising positions?"

She crossed her legs as she thought. "Generally, I try to avoid carnivals and lying men. Looks like I failed on both counts here."

He nodded sympathetically. "That you did, but I would like to point out that I only lie when I'm on stage."

"Now how would I know that?" she countered, enjoying their exchange regardless of her personal opinion of the man.

They had made a few full rotations by then, the night blurring by.

"I've been told I have a very honest face," he said.

Eventually, they exited the ride, still talking easily, sarcasm and barbs flying everywhere. Patrick Jane was very smart, that much was obvious. If nothing else, he wasn't a boring conversationalist. His mind seemed to work at twice the speed of everyone else's. No wonder he was so good at his act.

As they ambled leisurely through the grounds, sidestepping groups of gawking fair-goers, she realized Patrick could probably charm the world's most recalcitrant spinster. Too bad it was all a show. She wondered if there was anything beneath the flashy exterior, or if he was shallow all the way down to his soul.

"Enjoying your stroll?" came a voice from their left. Alex Jane, still in the midst of strumming up attendance for his son's performance, was looking at them with something approaching triumph.

And suddenly, she understood.

It had happened before, though not for years. She was the daughter of the owner, after all, and Alex Jane certainly wasn't the first man to think that his progeny would have a better life as the son-in-law of Teddy Ruskin.

But it was about the most demeaning thing she could think of - was she nothing more than a means to an end? For anyone? Did what she want ever come into play?

Disgusted now, she turned to Patrick. The change in attitude, the careful conversation, the general toning down of some of his worst traits...she was just a game, something to be won.

Judging by his face, he saw that she was jumping to the correct conclusion.

"Angela," he began, one hand held out in entreaty.

There was still face to save.

She stepped back neatly out of his reach, and smiled harshly. "Well, Wonder Boy," she said, letting acid creep into her tone. "Have an excellent evening. I'm sure you won't be spending it all totally alone."

Before he could say another stupid word, she turned on her heel and walked swiftly away.

Clearly, she'd been right about him.

She just wished it didn't sting so much.

**A/N: Donna's chapter is up next! Thanks for reading!**


	3. Chapter 3

A/N: Thanks so much for continuing to read our fic. If you haven't read chapter 2, please do so before you move on to this one. Also, this site has had some problems lately sending out story alerts, so if you didn't receive one for this or the last chapter, you might want to click on the box again.

Lots happens in this chapter; have fun!

**Chapter 3**

The moment Patrick realized he'd been made, he shot an angry glance at his father and took off after Angela. He followed her light-brown head through the crowd and to the back edge of the carnival where the carnie trailers were parked. He rounded the second row of them and stopped in front of an unfamiliar monstrosity, a luxurious motor home that could house three families, rather than the typical little Airstream most of the carnies called home.

He pounded on the door. "Angela! Please, let me explain!"

"Peddle your goods somewhere else, Wonder Boy," she called through the door. "I ain't buying."

"Come on. Give me a chance. I'm really quite charming when you get to know me."

"I know all I want to of your fake charm. Find some townie and fleece her for all she's worth. You're lucky I don't tell my daddy what you and your no-account father tried to pull."

"No, please," said Patrick, trying to hide the very real panic in his voice. They definitely couldn't afford to lose their jobs now, not with the specter of cancer looming before them. "Look, I'm sorry. I was desperate."

He heard her offended bark of laughter. "That makes me feel so much better."

"Look, I didn't mean it like that. Dammit, could you just open the door and let me start over?"

Patrick leaned his forehead against the metal door, listening to the pounding of his own heart as the girl on the other side decided his entire future.

Inside, Angela peaked through the curtains at the young man she knew was just waiting out there to con her. She could see his beautiful profile, his curls bleached by the sun. She could let him con her, make him fall in love with her, make him think he was going to get everything, then _whoosh_—pull the rug right out from under him and let him fall flat on his ass. She could string him along all summer, making him work hard for every crumb. Not even a magician could jump through the hoops she'd hold up for him. It actually might be an entertaining way to pass the time until she got back to the real world.

"Angela?" he pleaded, and she had to admit, she loved to hear him beg.

She moved quietly back to the door, gently gripped the doorknob, and pushed the door open with all her might.

"Awww!" Patrick cried out as he fell unceremoniously onto his ass-right where she wanted him. If there had been mud, it would have been perfect.

"Holy shit," he muttered, touching his forehead gingerly.

"Oh, I'm so sorry," she said blandly.

Angela stepped down the three metal steps to stand before him, hands on slim hips.

"Okay, here's your chance. Explain. And it had better be good, psychic boy, or else."

Even though he was literally in no position to be a smart ass, he couldn't help going at least one step too far. It was in his blood, he supposed.

"Or else what?"

"Or else my daddy will have your job, asshole!"

Patrick hung his head a moment, took a deep breath and looked up at her. _Damn, she was beautiful. And smart. And witty. And—_

"Well?" she prompted, tapping her foot in the dirt.

_And stubborn_.

He got to his feet, brushing the dust off his pants.

"I know it was wrong to try to manipulate you like I did. It's just that, well, we're in sort of a financial bind, my dad and I."

"Debts, eh? Your father a gambler or something?"

Patrick jumped on that explanation. Lots of the carnies he knew had gambling problems, so that was as good a story as any. Besides, if Teddy Ruskin found out his dad had cancer, he'd be laid off immediately; Ruskin Attractions wouldn't want the liability of him dying on the job. They'd let him go, saying it was for his own good, that he needed to take it easy. And his father would kill him for blabbing.

"Yeah, he plays the ponies. And if we don't pay what we owe, he could end up dead." _There, that was the truth. Mostly._

Angela cocked her head at him, trying to separate the facts from the bullshit.

"So you thought, hey, get in good with the boss's daughter, and some money might start flowing your way? How far were you willing to take this? To the altar?"

Patrick had the grace to look sheepish. "Well…Dad is all I have…"

Her face softened a fraction against her will. "I think that's the first honest emotion you've shared with me today."

Encouraged by her brief attack of pity, he took a step toward her.

"Look, Angela, I don't like most of what my father does, and sometimes I damn near hate the man, but he is my dad, and he's raised me the best he could since my mom died. He's taught me a way to make a living—"

"There are other ways," Angela said, thinking of the college degree that awaited her. "You could get away from him and make your own way."

"Ha," he said skeptically. "And do what?"

"Go to college."

"With what? My good looks? Dad and I only make enough to get by; that's why he gambles. No, it's the carnie life for me. It's the only thing I'm good at. But I'm not lying here; we really do need some help right now."

She considered him a moment, surprised to find that she was actually believing him. Oh, she knew he could be trying to get under her skin with his earnest puppy dog eyes—she'd definitely have to tread carefully here. No matter his circumstances, true or not, the boy needed to be taught a lesson about how to treat people, and she knew she was just the girl to do it. Hell, she owed it to womankind to do it.

She smiled at him now. "Okay, here's what's going to happen, and I'm only doing this because I'm in a bit of a quandary myself. I could actually use some help too."

"Anything," he said, feeling the relief seeping in that he'd convinced her.

"Don't be too quick to agree, Wonder Boy. The fact is, I've got a demanding father too, and he's putting all kinds of pressure on me to consider taking on the family business instead of going to college and getting the hell away from this life. If he were to see me involved with a carnie, it would reassure him that I might hang around a while longer, and maybe he'd stay off my back the rest of the summer."

"So, you want me to play devoted boyfriend? What's in it for me?"

"Well, your dad would ease off of you too, I imagine, if he sees you're doing what he wants. And in return, maybe I could get Daddy to cut back on your rent; that might help cover your debts."

It was Patrick's turn to look skeptical. "You'd really do that? I don't believe you."

She shrugged. "Take it or leave it. But if you leave it, stay the hell away from me the rest of the summer, and come up with some excuse about not helping my brother become more like you."

"Now I have no choice in that one," he countered. "The boss told me to do it. Danny's supposed to be helping me with tonight's show as a matter of fact. I would lose my job for sure if I tried to get out of it."

"So you're taking my deal, then?"

He stared at her pretty face in the light from the Winnebago's interior, noted the care with which she'd made herself up. Had her extra effort been for him? The thought gave him a small thrill of awareness. He allowed his most charming smile to spread across his face.

"Pretend the beautiful boss's daughter is my girl? It's gonna be a chore, but…" he trailed off with mock reticence.

"Wise choice."

Angela held out her hand to shake on it, regretting the action the moment his warm fingers clasped hers.

"Thanks, Angela. You won't regret it," he said.

_No_, she thought, _but I'll see to it you will._

He squeezed her hand and released it, deciding not to push his luck by kissing her palm like he wanted to, then he pressed the button on the side of his watch to peer at the time in the twilight.

"Sorry, sweetheart, but I gotta get ready for my show. You coming to see your brother's big debut?"

"Wouldn't miss it," she said wryly.

"See you, then," he said, nodding and sauntering back toward the Midway, hands stuffed in the front pockets of his jeans. Angela stood and watched him depart, thinking that he looked almost as good going as he did coming.

"This is going to be fun," she said to herself. "Mr. Pyschic won't even see it coming."

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Patrick walked into the dressing area of his tent and began rifling through his costumes in an old steamer trunk, whistling as he did so. It wasn't long before Alex joined him.

"Well, how did it go? Did you fix things with Daddy's Girl?"

"No thanks to you," Patrick chided. "You really got to work on staying cool, Dad. Your intentions for her were written all over your face."

"She must be some kind of girl to even notice such a thing. Smarter than your usual bimbos, that's for sure."

Patrick knew he should probably be offended by that remark, but when he was right, he was right.

"Yeah, well, I turned on the old Jane charm and got her to give me another try. She wants me to pretend to be her boyfriend to keep Daddy Warbucks off her back this summer."

"You don't say," Alex mused, rubbing his stubbled jaw. "Hmmm…it's like she already gave you the keys to the kingdom."

"Don't start sending out the wedding invitations just yet, Dad. She was definitely onto us, knew I was only after her for her money. The best we can get out of this deal is a drop in rent payments."

"Rent? Why, Paddy, some piddly cut won't even begin to cover all my medical bills. No, you need to wear her down and become part of the family dynasty. Better yet, get a kid in her and you'll be set for life. You're already more than halfway there. I saw the way she was looking at you, like you were a chocolate sundae and she was a giant silver spoon, or maybe you'll be lucky to find she's the cherry on top. Play your cards right, and you'll be in her pants in no time."

Patrick gritted his teeth, feeling the disgusted rage welling up from somewhere deep and unfamiliar. But he tamped it down, knowing there'd be hell to pay if he ever really acted on his feelings and punched his old man's lights out. _Besides_, he thought, his anger deflating suddenly_, he's sick_. He relaxed his jaw.

"You said yourself she was smart. She's been around the carnival most of her life, Dad. She can sniff out a con a mile away. I say we take what we can get and come up with some other way to make some extra bucks."

"You going soft on me, boy," Alex asked, his eyes narrowing dangerously. "You're not willing to put yourself out there because you like the girl, don't you? She's a fine piece of ass, I'll give you that. I'd take her on myself if I didn't have a round of chemo coming up. You got to learn to separate your big head from your little one, you get me? Once you get her in the sack, you'll realize she's just like all the other trollops you've bedded, and you'll see things much more clearly, I promise you…"

Patrick stood there and listened to his father go on and on, hating every word that came out of his mouth. Soon, he tuned him out completely and wished he was somewhere else—anywhere else but listening to the man he was likely to become himself one day. But what choice did he have, really, despite what Angela Ruskin had said? He was certainly smart enough to handle college. He'd never gone to high school, but as a teenager, he'd stolen books out of the public libraries of nearly every town the carnival visited in order to educate himself. At seventeen, he'd gotten his GED by showing up one day and acing the test at a vocational school. He hadn't even studied for it, and he'd made a perfect score. He never doubted his intelligence, just his choices.

"…so you finish getting ready for your show and make sure Danny Ruskin ends up looking like a pro, you hear me?"

"Yeah," replied Patrick absently. His father walked away, shaking his head and muttering under his breath about uppity, ungrateful kids.

Alone, Patrick heaved a sigh of relief and went back to the steamer trunk. At the very bottom, neatly folded and wrapped in dry cleaner's plastic, he found what he was looking for. It was his father's nicest suit, handmade by an Italian tailor whose daughter he'd slept with on a visit to New York in the early sixties. (Alex was overly fond of telling and re-telling that particular story.) Patrick slipped the coat out of its protective plastic and stood before his vanity mirror. He'd tried it on many times over the years, without his father's knowledge of course, but it had always been too big for him—until now.

Now, it fit him like the tailor had designed it for _him _instead. It was a beautiful royal blue sharkskin, lined in navy silk, and it made Patrick look and feel like a million bucks. He changed into the matching slacks. They were a bit long, but he could get them altered by Pete's wife, Samantha, who was an accomplished seamstress.

He found a red silk tie in a pocket of the coat, and he quickly buttoned his white shirt to his throat before expertly knotting the tie. He buttoned his vest and stood back to admire himself. Now this was the image he should be going for- elegant, stylish, powerful. He slicked his hair back from his face with a bit of his father's Vitalis, thinking he might need to grow it out some to get the full effect. His father might be angry with him, but the last time Alex had worn it—at his wife's funeral—it had barely fit him, and Alex hadn't exactly been on a diet since then.

Patrick preened a bit more, then slipped on a pair of black dress shoes he seldom wore because they were a little tight. It was almost time for the show when he heard footsteps near the back door of the tent.

"Patrick?" called Danny Ruskin. "You in there?"

"Yeah, kid, come on in, but don't let anyone see you."

The boy who walked in was sixteen years old, wide-eyed and eager. He was dressed in designer jeans and a light blue polo shirt, looking every bit the privileged kid he was. His hair was straight and light brown, like his sister's, his face clean scrubbed and devoid of blemishes. Patrick had to admit that Danny's all-American innocent look would make him the perfect shill.

"You ready for your big debut?" Patrick asked kindly.

"Yeah, I can't wait!"

"Well, don't act too excited. Your mother just died, remember?"

Danny grinned at the back-story they'd created, remembering his mother was safe at home in Santa Barbara. Patrick was perfectly capable of giving spot-on cold reads, but it certainly helped his reputation when it appeared he'd gotten everything exactly right from the "spirit" of someone's departed loved one.

"Now remember, we can only do this one time per town, because we often have repeat attendees in the audience, just waiting to see me screw up or prove me a fraud. So make it count, kid."

Danny suddenly looked a little more nervous than excited.

"Just do like I said and you'll be fine. Will, uh, your sister be there?"

Danny smiled knowingly, remembering how Angela had stood before the mirror back in their trailer, fixing and re-fixing her already perfect hair, spraying on too much perfume. He'd seen the way she looked at Patrick Jane, and even though she'd gone on and on at breakfast about what a womanizing pig he was, Danny knew his sister. She was doing like Shakespeare said and protesting way too much. Apparently, Patrick's interest was very mutual.

"Yeah, she's coming," said Danny.

"That's cool," replied Jane nonchalantly. "Now, you go pretend to buy your ticket at the front like everyone else, and sit somewhere in the middle of the audience. Don't draw attention to yourself, okay?"

"Okay. Thanks, Patrick. You won't be sorry."

"You better hope not, kid," he said, but it was difficult to be tough with a boy that was so damn eager to please.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

It was, in Patrick's opinion, probably the best show he'd ever given. Danny hit all his cues and even managed to cry convincingly—no small feat for a first-timer. Having Angela in the room was actually energizing, and he felt a renewed passion for what he was doing as he felt her dark eyes upon him, heating him up from the inside out. Everything just seemed to click into place, and he was able to read people like the proverbial books they were. The only drawback was his dad's angry assessment of his stolen wardrobe, but that faded quickly when Patrick was able to book five private readings after the show.

"More suits, that's what you need," said Alex later, backstage. "I told you it was time to change your image."

Patrick rolled his eyes and loosened his tie. As great as he looked, he didn't think he'd ever get used to feeling like he was wearing a noose. He changed out of his father's suit, hanging it carefully on a hanger for tomorrow night's shows.

"Well, nice ones like these cost money," Patrick said.

"Another reason to woo the boss's daughter, eh?"

Patrick's gleeful smile dimmed, and he remembered the tough position he was in. Please his father. Please Angela's father. Please Angela. But unless this thing turned out the way he wanted it to with the girl in question, there would be no pleasing him, that was for sure.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

It was midnight, and the carnival was closed down for the night. The workers had retired to their trailers, with the exception of a few night owls, who sat in lawn chairs outside their mobile homes and puffed on cigarettes or drank a nightcap or two. During the season, being a carnie was exhausting, and the smart ones took their sleep very seriously. Patrick was usually one to sleep like the dead the moment his night time business was through, but this night, the energy he'd felt during his show hadn't diminished, and he decided to take a walk to work some of it off.

Normally, he would have lined up a pretty townie to take the edge off, but that wasn't an option, given his agreement with Angela. She wasn't a girl to be made a fool of by a philandering boyfriend. Not that he would be able to focus on anyone else, he thought honestly, not with Angela Ruskin as yet untapped.

He found himself in front of her trailer, saw the light on in one window. He saw her silhouette behind the white blinds, and knew it must be her room. Heart pounding in his chest, he walked quietly over and tapped lightly on the window, cringing at how loud it sounded in the stillness.

Her light went out, and Patrick's hopes fell, that is until her front door opened and Angela stepped out into the night.

"How did you know it was me?" he whispered as they walked swiftly away from the trailers.

"I didn't. Maybe I was expecting someone else. That Jim at the shooting gallery is pretty hot."

Jim was a good guy, but he was scuzzy and stank of sweat and stale whiskey.

"Yeah, right," said Patrick in amusement. "You were waiting for me."

"Yeah, I was," she said, stopping in the middle of the empty Midway. She pulled out a package of cigarettes from her shorts pocket and tapped one out. "You got a light?"

"No, I don't," he said, and with two deft movements, he'd palmed her pack and the cigarette she'd placed between her lips, so quickly it took her a moment to realize what he'd done.

"Hey! Give those back!"

"You shouldn't smoke," he said.

"That's really not your decision to make, _Paddy_," she said in annoyance. "You're not my daddy."

"I'll give 'em back later, _Angel._ I hate girls who smoke. It's disgusting."

"Well, no one said you had to like me, did they? Just do what I tell you."

Patrick grinned, but she didn't ask for her cigarettes again. They continued walking in companionable silence until they reached the front gate of the carnival. They waved to the roaming night security guard, and then Patrick hurdled easily over the fence that surrounded the boat ride, a kiddie ride where boats went in a circle over two feet of chlorinated water.

"What are you doing?" Angela asked, looking at the back of the guard, still in sight just down the Midway.

"Finding a place to sit down. What's the matter, you scared of getting caught?"

She moved to the railing defiantly and slung one leg over. Patrick put out his hands to help her, but she brushed them away and made it over on her own.

"In case you forgot, my daddy owns the place."

"No possible way I could forget that when I'm around you," he said glibly.

The ride was locked down, requiring a key to make it move, but Patrick was content to squeeze into a small boat beside Angela and pretend they were on a slow moving river. The full moon only added to the romance.

He put his arm over the back of the boat, and when he felt her stiffen, it made him smile. She scooted as far to her side of the boat as she could, but their legs still touched in the cramped space, heightening their awareness.

"So," he began conversationally. "How do we enact this plan of yours: Operation Daddy Deception."

"Oh, I'm sure you're an expert at seducing innocent maidens. Just act like you usually would when you have a mark in sight."

"Actually, I'm not usually interested in the innocent ones. Too much drama when it's over."

"Well, you don't have to worry about that with me. I'm already clued in to your nefarious intentions."

Then it hit him, exactly what she had admitted to. He supposed he should have known all that tough-girl worldliness was really an act, but he didn't quite know how to feel about that. Still, he had to ask, if only to witness her reaction.

"You're a virgin, aren't you?"

"That's none of your damn business," she snapped.

"Well, well, well, isn't this an interesting development."

She was glad it was dark, for she knew she must be blushing to her hairline.

"It's not an invitation, Wonder Boy, so don't get any stupid ideas. You try anything, and our deal is off."

"So, by _anything_, you mean I can't even touch you, say, like this…?" His warm palm landed on her bare knee.

"No," she said, pushing his hand violently away. He chuckled, staring at her stiff profile.

"So, no kissing even? I mean, just for show, of course." Another thought occurred to him. "You _have_ been kissed before, haven't you?"

"Yes," she said, offended. "I'm eighteen years old. I've been out on a date or two."

He moved his head closer to her, and she put a forestalling hand on his shoulder. "That wasn't an invitation."

"But shouldn't we practice, you know, so it will look realistic in front of everyone?"

She stared at him a moment, at his mischievous eyes, sparkling with humor, at his full, sensual lips, just inches away from hers. He was easily the most beautiful guy she'd ever seen in person, and her speeding pulse only emphasized that fact. Impulsively, she tightened her hand on his shoulder and closed the gap between them, pressing her lips to his.

She could tell by his momentary hesitation that she'd surprised him, but then he turned in the seat and moved his hands to her soft cheeks. He tilted his head, taking what she'd offered him with slow, seductive gratitude. First, he explored each plump lip, molding his mouth to each while his tongue reached out tentatively to touch the delicate seam between them. She helplessly opened her mouth to him then, and his tongue invaded the hot interior with an unexpected moan of desire that he realized had come from him.

She tasted of strawberry lip gloss and minty toothpaste, and for the first time that he could remember, his usually active mind went totally blank. His world narrowed down to where his mouth fused with hers, to the small noises she was making in the back of her throat, to the scent of her Sweet Honesty cologne that enveloped him. He deepened the kiss even more, until his strong body was nearly on top of hers in the small boat and her fingers played restlessly with the curls at his nape.

When his hand wandered down to her breast, it was like he had found the switch that brought back her sanity, and she pushed him away with both hands. He lost his balance and slipped over the side of the boat, landing with a splash in the cold water.

"What the hell did you do that for?" he cried, breathing heavily with shock and thwarted desire.

"I told you not to do anything stupid," she said, peering over the side at him, but laughter was bubbling up within her as his feet slipped again on the slick bottom of the pool. It wasn't getting old, seeing him land on his ass in front of her.

"All you had to do was say stop," he complained in supreme annoyance, reaching for the side of the boat in attempt to haul himself up.

"I don't know you well enough to know if you'd take no for an answer," she countered. "Besides, you looked like you needed to cool off a bit." She hurriedly stood and jumped to the platform that led to the exit ramp.

"Where do you think you're going?"

He finally got his footing enough to sit on the side of the boat, where he shook the wet hair out of his eyes and watched her climb over the fence. The way her shorts rode up as she did so made his wet jeans impossibly tighter.

"I think we've had enough practice for one night. I'm confident you can make everything seem…realistic."

"Hey, Angel!" he called after her. "You forgot something!"

He reached into his back pocket and tossed her soggy cigarettes over the fence. They landed at her feet, and he felt supreme satisfaction when she made a face of disgust as she toed the waterlogged package.

"Gee thanks. You owe me a pack of cigarettes."

"You're the one who pushed me in. You owe me a new pair of shoes."

"I saw those shoes, Wonder Boy; I'd say we're even."

He listened to her soft, sexy laughter as she melted into the darkened Midway, and he wiped a frustrated hand over his wet face. But then he felt himself smiling in spite of himself, and he whistled tunelessly all the way back to his trailer, leaving a dripping trail behind him.

**A/N: I hope you enjoyed this. Please log in and let us know what you think. Starry's chapter is up next.**

**Also, check out starry19's solo fic, "The Art of Sanctuary"—it's fabulous. And, not to toot my own horn (too much), waterbaby134 and I would love for you to read our latest collaboration, a post-finale fic entitled "Red Roulette." Thanks for all your support. We do it all for you!**


	4. Chapter 4

AN: Sorry for the delay getting this sucker written! I've failed to bring my A Game the past week or so. Sheesh!

Anyway, Donna and I really hope you're enjoying this story. We're certainly having a good time writing it!

**Chapter Four**

The more she thought about it, the more she was convinced that being in an ersatz relationship with Patrick Jane was a bad idea. He was just too damn charming and clever for his own good. Also, conniving. Definitely conniving.

However, every time she thought about telling him that this was a stupid plan and that she was going to figure out her own way to get her dad to give in, the words shriveled up and died in her throat.

There was something about him that could just be so magnetically fascinating that it was sometimes hard to look away. When he was on the stage, he became a medium, reaching beyond the hazy veil of death to deliver messages from long-passed relatives to grieving families. The transformation from that to the jaunty, carefree twenty-year-old who took every opportunity he could to kiss her in front of their parents was astounding.

He was a consummate actor, that was certain.

And, she had to admit, he was sort of easy on the eyes. In the end, she was eighteen, and there was something almost primal in the pleasure she got when she was on his arm, putting on their little show, and she knew that there were female eyes watching them.

Patrick played the part of attentive beau well. He held her hand, toyed with her hair, and opened doors. Of course, as soon as they were alone, she pulled away. He didn't need to get any ideas; she was sure his head was already quite full enough of them.

To his credit, he hadn't tried any more groping crap, not since she'd forcefully shown him that he was going to toe the line or suffer the consequences. And what delightful consequences they had been, too.

Her father seemed to approve wholeheartedly of the match.

"See, Ang?" he said one morning over breakfast, sipping what was probably his third cup of coffee. "This life isn't all bad. You certainly wouldn't meet a guy like Patrick Jane on the campus of some Ivy League place."

"No," she allowed, "I'm guessing there's no one like Patrick Jane anywhere else on this earth." And thank God for that, because the world certainly didn't need two of him.

Danny, too, almost seemed in awe of Patrick, spending every free moment he could with him. Though he would rather die than admit it, Patrick Jane was everything he hoped to be in the future -collected, debonair, charming. Someone to be idolized.

Definitely a dangerous thing.

Around noon, there was a knock on the trailer door. Surprised, she opened it to find Patrick standing on the steps, smiling like he didn't have a care in the world. Hell, maybe he didn't.

"Hi," he said, Cheshire cat grin almost blinding.

"Hi," she replied a bit warily.

"Let's go get lunch, girlfriend of mine." Clearly, he was in a very good mood.

"Why?" she asked, hand still on the doorknob.

"Why?" he repeated. "Because this is the socially accepted time to have a midday meal, Angel. I thought you went to private school. Surely they taught you that."

She resisted the urge to flick him in the nose. "No, jackass. Why should we get lunch?"

He shrugged. "I heard there was a good place in town, and I figured you could use a break from the joys of trailer living." His eyes were wide, guileless, and she suddenly wondered if he was actually asking her because he thought she'd enjoy it. "Besides, we haven't been able to see each other much lately. We don't need people to start talking."

That much was true-they had been on the road for a couple of days before stopping in southern Missouri. Traveling meant early starts and late stops, only barely leaving time to grab a quick bite and sleep for a few hours. It would look suspicious if she and Patrick didn't take advantage of the first downtime they had.

Letting out a breath, she swung the door wide. "Fine," she conceded. "Come in, I'll only be a second."

Leaving Patrick to his own devices, she made the quick walk to her room. She had insisted on having her own space in the trailer, and so Danny had been relocated to the couch. He didn't seem to mind, so neither did she.

She checked her appearance in the small mirror above the dresser. Silly, but she wished she would've had a little advanced notice of Patrick's plans. No girl liked to be caught off guard, even if it was by the man she was only pretending to date. It wasn't like she could put make-up on now, lest he start to think that she was dressing up for him.

Of course, that's precisely what she would have done if she'd have known he was coming.

However, doing it and him knowing she was doing it were two very different things.

She settled for some subtle lip gloss and running a brush through her hair. Then, stuffing her cigarettes in her purse just because she knew they annoyed him, she walked back to the front door.

"Well, Wonder Boy, do you mind telling me how we're going to get to town in the first place?" It was something she'd been wondering. "If you think we're walking, I'm afraid you're very mistaken."

He grinned again. "No worries. I've got that all taken care of."

As soon as they were outside, he took her hand, fingers twining together loosely.

"Did you steal a car?" she wanted to know. "Please tell me you don't have a motorcycle I didn't know about."

He sighed in exasperation. "Didn't I tell you I had things taken care of? Stop harassing me, Angel, or I'll kiss you."

Her mouth shut with an audible snap.

They stopped walking in front of a newish looking Toyota that she didn't recognize. She shot him a questioning look, but refrained from saying anything in light of his recent threat.

"It belongs to Steve Weber, the ring toss guy. I won the use of it in a poker game last night." He seemed too smug to be legal.

"Did you cheat?" she couldn't help but asking.

He opened the passenger side door with a flourish. "Why, Angela, it hurts me that you think I'm capable of such terrible things."

She took that as a yes, but got in the car anyway. It was an underhanded thing, but he didn't appear to be doing any real damage. Besides, he'd been right when he'd guessed she was dying to get out of the trailer.

Patrick turned the radio to a jazz station before putting the vehicle in gear. He drove too fast, but she rolled the windows down, and it was a little exhilarating.

The restaurant he'd told her about was nothing particularly fancy, but the food turned out to be delicious. Besides, it wasn't carnival food or something that could be heated up in a trailer kitchen.

In her opinion, the waitress was a touch friendly, especially since Patrick was very clearly with another woman, but other than that, she would say lunch was a success.

Since it was opening night in a new town, he needed to get back early, so she spent part of her afternoon in her bikini, lying on a folding chaise lounge outside her trailer. The sun was blinding, so she closed her eyes. If she tried hard enough, she could almost imagine she was somewhere else. Somewhere by the beach maybe, some place clean and pure, the sound of the crashing waves a soothing background noise.

God, if only.

She had promised to attend Patrick's show that evening, dutiful girlfriend that she was pretending to be. In her opinion, the show would be much better without Alex Jane. He gave the whole thing a creepy, slimy vibe. Of course, that could have just been because she knew what kind of man he was.

It was just like Alex to gamble away whatever profit they made and then to put pressure on his talented son to fix the whole mess. Not that she particularly gave a damn about Patrick, but some people didn't deserve the hand they were dealt, that was all.

In another week or so, she was planning to aske her father to cut back on their rent. Teddy wasn't stupid, and she was going to have to make her performance convincing, but she thought she just might be able to do it.

She took her usual seat in the back of the tent, legs crossed negligently. There was an air of anticipation in the crowd mixed with almost tangible skepticism. She had no doubt that Wonder Boy was going to make believers out of most of them before the night was over.

Sure enough, his performance was dead on, and she felt something that might have been a stirring of pride in her chest as she watched him work. The suit looked good on him, there was no denying that. He wore it like a suit of armor-sexy armor.

She shook those thoughts away, scanning the people around her absently. To her immense disquiet, a man was looking back at her, and not at Patrick.

Wonderful.

It had happened before-she was no stranger to unwanted attention, but it was always easier if it could be avoided.

She deliberately turned her focus back to the stage, hoping Mr. Creepy would get the hint. Still, she felt his eyes on her for a while, and she fought back goose bumps. Seriously, some people needed to learn some basic social skills.

The show ended to uproarious applause, and she got to her feet, clapping along with everyone else. No doubt, Patrick would have enough private readings to keep him busy until midnight.

Slowly, the crowd shuffled out of the tent, talking excitedly amongst themselves. Another satisfied group of customers, clearly.

Patrick was leaning up against the pillar of the tent when she reached him, watching his father book another reading with a middle-aged man with a bad toupee. She had learned that Patrick acting exhausted after a show was another part of the con. Apparently, communicating with the other side was tiring.

He set a hand on her waist. She stiffened for a second, then remembered she was his girlfriend and relaxed.

"I only have one reading tonight," he said quietly. "Everyone else booked for tomorrow. Wait for me?"

"Okay," she replied, thinking that they would put in their requisite time in front of the crowds.

He leaned down and kissed her cheek before releasing her. She wished she would have missed the way Alex Jane's eyes followed the movement.

The night air outside did a little to dispel the feelings that Alex Jane inspired in her, but she still felt a little dirty. Out of habit, she dug in her purse for her cigarettes, lighting one and waiting for the familiar acrid smell of burning tobacco to soothe her.

"Didn't anyone ever tell you smoking was bad for you?" a voice asked, and she turned, expecting Patrick.

Instead, it was Sir Creepy from the show, dark hair a little too long to appeal to her, shirt faded, and skin in need of a meeting with anything labeled Neutrogena.

"I must not've been listening," she replied, not bothering to hide her annoyance. Some people just couldn't take a hint.

"A rebel, huh?" he said, making sure his approval was written all over his unattractive face.

"Yeah, that's me," she deadpanned.

"Well, sweetheart," he said slowly, taking a few steps closer. "I happen to be a big fan of bad girls."

If she hadn't been tensing up, she would have scoffed. Bad girls. Really? As it was, she felt the first touch of adrenaline in her system. Locals were dangerous, that was rule number one.

"Sorry," she ground out. "I'm waiting here for my boyfriend, so you're going to have to find another bad girl."

The man's answering smile was not reassuring, revealing yellowed, crooked teeth. "But what if I just want you?" He took another step forward, just out of arm's reach.

Stubbornly, she held her ground. She was a Ruskin, dammit, and she wouldn't be cowed. "Well, we can't all get what we want."

"Hm, I don't think I like that idea," he murmured.

She started to say tough shit, but he suddenly reached for her arm and the words died in her throat. She reacted in an instant, grabbing her cigarette and stubbing it out on the asshole's bicep.

His grip didn't relax, however, and she twisted unsuccessfully, trying to get away.

"Don't be like that, sweetheart," he said, grabbing her other arm and pulling them both behind her back, gathering her wrists in one hand.

It occurred to her that she should scream, but all she managed was a short yelp before his dirty hand covered her mouth.

She bit down so hard she tasted blood, but she still couldn't get free. The man was cursing in her ear, and she fought with everything she had to keep him from dragging her away.

A quick movement fluttered at the corner of her eye and abruptly, the rough hands were lifted off of her. Straining as she had been, she was caught off balance and stumbled into the dirt beside the tent.

Turning as fast as she could, she saw Patrick throwing his fist into the other man's face. Alex Jane rushed out of the tent after his son, his eyes taking in the scenario. In a matter of seconds, it was over, and Patrick had the man in a bruising grip. She had never noticed how strong he was before now.

Her brain was thinking irrelevant things.

"I've got him," Alex said, his own large hands clamping down on her would-be attacker's shoulders. "You worry about your girl, I'll deal with this piece of trash."

Her vision blurred, and she wondered if she blacked out for a second. When she could focus again, Patrick was kneeling in front of her, hands reaching out.

"Jesus Christ," he whispered, rage still on his face. "Are you alright?"

She wanted to say yes, but seemed unable to make the words come out.

"Christ," he said again, and pulled her into his arms, pressure tight enough to make her feel secure but still loose enough that she didn't feel trapped.

Absently, she realized she was shaking uncontrollably. She gripped fistfuls of his shirt, holding him to her.

"It's all right," he whispered, "it's al lright. I've got you; nothing is going to happen."

She turned her face into his neck, taking deep, gasping breaths. His heart was pounding, belying his exertions, and he smelled like sweat, cologne, and something that was intrinsically him.

"Shh," he continued to croon, sitting back on his heels and taking her with him. "You're safe."

And as stupid as ridiculous as it was, she knew he wasn't lying. She felt safe exactly where she was.

Eventually, she pulled away and looked up at him. His hands came up to her face, thumbs brushing at the tears she hadn't realized were falling until now.

"Are you hurt?" he asked, voice full of real concern.

It took a moment to process the question. Thoughtfully, she looked down at her wrists, almost surprised to note that, yes, she was in pain. Bruises were already forming there, bruises in the shape of brutal fingers.

Patrick followed her eyes, expression becoming mildly horrified.

Gently, he took her hands and raised them, dropping a soft kiss on every burgeoning mark. The care he was showing astounded her, even in her dazed state.

Later, when she could think better, she would realize that _that_ was their moment.

Running footsteps sounded in her ears, and then shouts.

"Angela! Ang!"

Danny and her father were practically sprinting down the path to the tent, both looking terrified. Leaning heavily on Patrick, she stood, unwilling to leave the comfort she'd unexpectedly found in his arms.

As briefly as possible, she recounted what had happened.

"I heard her scream," Patrick told them. "Just for a second, but Angela isn't exactly the type to scream for no reason."

Teddy turned his gaze on her. "From what I hear, son, you're responsible for no harm coming to Angela. I'll be forever grateful that you were here to save her."

They talked for a little longer, but she stopped listening. Instead, she rested her head against Patrick's shoulder and tried to calm down.

The fear had left her, and now she was just _tired_. Unintentionally, she slumped.

"Let's get you home," Patrick whispered into her hair.

Slowly, they made their way back to the Ruskin's trailer, the humidity heavy around them. Danny, Patrick, and her father waited in the living room while she changed into the most comfortable pajamas she owned before climbing wearily into bed.

To her surprise, Patrick knocked softly on her door before entering the room proper.

Perching on the edge of her bed, he carefully tucked the blankets higher around her shoulders, then leaned forward to kiss her forehead. "Rest easy," he murmured. "I'll see you in the morning."

She watched him go until the door shut behind him.

Patrick was still quietly seething when he left Angela's side.

As bizarre as his upbringing had been, there were still certain rules that were always followed. He would have stepped in for any woman that found herself in the same situation, but the fact that it had been _Angela_ made it all the more serious.

That someone had dared touch her nearly made him come unglued.

No, she wasn't really _his_, but she sure as hell wasn't anyone else's.

If he was being honest, he had actually grown to genuinely like her. She was funny, smart, brash as hell when it suited her, and sometimes her smile made him feel like he had hung the moon.

He certainly never forgot that what they had was a business arrangement, that she could see through his act. Additionally, she was a means to an end.

Money was still in short supply, and with the upcoming hospital bills, times would get worse before they got better.

Still, it had felt like his heart was about ready to break when he'd seen the bruises on Angela's wrists.

In reality, it simply meant he needed to be more careful. Actual attachment was something he tried to avoid at all costs.

But when she had curled into him for comfort, holding onto him like he was her lifeline, he knew that undoubtedly, a barrier was beginning to topple. He tried to remember the last time someone had turned to him for real comfort, but he drew a blank.

No one had ever truly needed him like Angela had tonight. He had never been anyone's white knight.

There was something shockingly appealing about it.

His father was still up when Patrick got back to their trailer. He couldn't help but draw comparisons to what he had just left. No satellite television or air conditioning here.

"How's Angela doing?" Alex asked with what might have been true concern.

He shrugged. "She's shaken up, but I think she's basically unharmed."

Under the glow of the kitchen light, the shadows under Alex's eyes looked darker than normal. Other than that, however, Patrick hadn't seen any evidence of the cancer that was ravaging his father. He knew it was still early, and all he could do was hope that whatever treatment Alex was going through would be effective.

"Good to hear," the older man said. "Rest assured, that dirtball won't be showing up around here again. Of course," he added, smiling a little wickedly, "if he did, you wouldn't recognize him anyway. I think someone replaced his face with a pound of mincemeat."

The members of their community took care of their own, and especially their women. Angela, whether she liked it or not, was practically royalty around here, and the outrage would have been intensified. Patrick was willing to bet that Alex was far from the only man to take a little revenge.

"Never doubted you'd take care of it," he said wearily. "I'm going to bed. It's been a hell of a night."

Later, lying in his narrow bunk, arms folded behind his head, he returned to how it had felt to hold Angela for real. There was no artifice, no trying to look like a couple for the people who were inevitably watching. It had just been…them.

He had instinctively offered her comfort, had promised her that she was safe. He hadn't been lying – there wasn't a chance that he was going to let anything happen to her.

For just a while, they had been real, and to his immense surprise, he found he wanted that back.

Could it be possible? Did he…did he actually _care_ about Angela Ruskin?

The notion was bizarre, ridiculous.

Yes, they had spent quite a bit of time together lately, and yes, she definitely wasn't the worst person he'd ever been around, but did that really mean he was developing feelings?

Maybe it was simply the lack of sex that was going to his head. After all, excluding the little romp Angela had unintentionally walked in on, he hadn't been with a woman since the night they'd met.

And she didn't make it easy – short shorts and tan legs and the fact that her sunbathing spot happened to be in his line of vision as he looked out of the performance tent.

No normal, red-blooded male would be able to keep his head totally, and Patrick figured he was no exception.

Yes, that all sounded about right. He could easily chalk all of this up to a distinct absence of sex. Unfortunately, it didn't look like he was going to be changing that particular state any time soon.

He still needed Angela to work her magic, and sleeping with her was out of the question.

She was a virgin, and virgins were messy and complicated, two things he tried to avoid at all costs when picking lovers. Innocence generally wasn't a quality he liked or admired. It just meant people had false ideas about the world.

Naturally, his mind picked that moment to spin an elaborate fantasy about what it _would_ be like to be her first. She was all lithe limbs and tanned skin and he remembered how it felt when she'd kissed him that first time.

Violently, he shook his head. There was nothing for him in that direction, except for maybe frustration.

She would go back to the world she wanted to inhabit when this summer was over, and he would tell his father that he'd done the best he could, but she just didn't want the lifestyle.

Everything would go back to normal after that. He would work on perfecting his craft, to be the best he could, no, to be the _best_, period.

And he would forget about Angela by losing himself in every willing female he could talk into a roll in the proverbial hay.

He just had to get through the summer, that was all.

Hell, it was only another few months. A simple exercise of willpower. He just needed to keep his head about him, to not let these false feelings he was starting to develop cloud his judgment and his decision making.

His mind tried to recall exactly what had gone through his heart when she'd cried on his shoulder, but he pushed it away. It would do no good.

Still, as he turned on his side, he thought he could detect a faint trace of her perfume on his skin, and he smiled slightly as he drifted off.

**AN: Donna is up next! Stay tuned! **


	5. Chapter 5

A/N: Starry19 and I really appreciate your reviews of the last chapter. You guys are too kind! This chapter shows a deeper shift in Jane and Angela's relationship, and thus, I must warn you that it moves briefly into the M category. Please enjoy!

**Chapter 5**

True to his word, the next morning Patrick showed up at Angela's family trailer. He knocked on the door, and Teddy Ruskin opened it with a smile of welcome.

"Patrick! You had breakfast? Angela's making breakfast."

"No, I uh, haven't."

"Well, come in, son."

Patrick stepped up into the trailer, his eyes meeting Angela's, who blushed and turned shyly back to the stove where she was stirring something in a large frying pan. She was still wearing the pajamas she'd had on the night before—he hadn't realized the bottoms had been short shorts. He swallowed, feeling his own cheeks redden.

"Treating you to breakfast is the least we can do, after what you did for Angela last night," Teddy was saying. "Right, Danny Boy?" he said to Angela's sleepy-eyed brother, already seated at the trailer's breakfast nook.

"Yeah, thanks, Patrick. I only wish I could have been there to help you kick his ass."

"Me too, kid. I coulda used you," said Patrick with a kind grin. Angela set another place at the long booth, and Jane sat down next to Danny.

"How do you like your eggs?" she asked softly.

Patrick looked over at her. "Over easy, please," he said, but what he really wanted to say was how pretty she looked in the morning, despite the circles beneath her eyes and the dark purple bruises around her wrists.

"Bacon?"

"Of course."

"Coffee?"

"No thanks. I hate the stuff."

"Me too," said Angela. "How about tea? I just put the pot on."

"Tea?" he said, nose wrinkling. "Isn't that for little old ladies and stuffed shirt Limeys?"

Teddy chuckled. "That's what I say." He picked up his cup and took a healthy gulp of black coffee. "Nothing like good, strong American coffee. Grows hair on your chest."

"Tea's gross," added Danny, and Patrick grinned when Angela stuck her tongue out at her brother behind Teddy's back.

"Have some tea," encouraged Angela. "My mom taught me the right way to make it. Her mother was British."

Jane shrugged. "Guess it won't hurt to try it."

Teddy smiled knowingly. _Young love_. "So, what brings you by this morning, Patrick?" As if he didn't know.

"I was just wondering how Angela was doing. She had quite a scare last night."

At the stove, Angela's back stiffened, and she hesitated before scraping scrambled eggs onto a plate with a spatula.

"I'm fine," she said. She took out two more eggs from the carton and cracked them into the pan, then turned the bacon over with a fork where it sizzled in another pan.

"Good," he said sincerely. "Also, I was wondering if Angela could go with me for a drive this afternoon before my show."

"Sure she can," said Teddy, as if Angela had no say in the matter.

"If Angela agrees, of course," Patrick added politely. Angela looked at him gratefully. Naturally, all of this was for show, but somehow his consideration for her feelings seemed tantalizingly…real.

"Sounds like fun," she said dryly. "I'd love to."

"Cool. Meet me in the parking lot at noon."

"I'll do that."

"Can I come?" asked Danny eagerly.

"No, 'fraid not, Danny boy," said his father. "You're gonna go round the Midway with me with the ride inspectors. You need to see more of the business side of the company. It'll all be yours someday to manage, so you should know what it takes to run every aspect of it."

Danny gave an adolescent groan, but obediently said, "Yes, sir."

The teakettle whistled.

Angela busied herself making Patrick's tea, adding milk into a teacup first, then the hot water, then tea leaves in a round tea strainer. She set the cup and saucer before him, and he looked at it skeptically.

"Fancy," he said in amusement.

"Taste it."

"I don't know, Patrick," said Teddy. "You drink that, and I might lose all respect for you as a man, despite that manly display last night."

"I'm a little more confident than that in my masculinity, Mr. Ruskin." He smiled at Angela and took a tentative sip. It was delicious.

"Hmmm," he said. "There might be something to this tea thing."

"Told ya," she said near his ear when she set a plate of bacon, eggs, and toast in front of him. He fought the urge to nuzzle into her neck and focused on the eggs. He was very particular about his eggs. The white of the egg had to be completely done, while the yolk remained soft. It took real skill not to break the yolk or get it too firm.

The other two men filled their plates from the platter of bacon and eggs, and Angela soon joined them, her bare thigh pressing against Patrick's as she squeezed in beside him.

"These eggs are perfect," he said with genuine pleasure. "My compliments to the chef."

"Thanks," she said, resisting rolling her eyes at his enthusiasm. "It's just eggs."

"Well, it was like you were born to make them."

This time she looked heavenward, and Patrick laughed heartily over a mouthful of divine eggs.

Patrick looked around at the small family. This was what he'd been missing his whole life. Sure, some of the other carnies, most notably Samantha and Pete, were like family to him, but they didn't eat together like this. Everyone tended to keep to his own trailer after work, and Patrick had become sadly used to eating frozen dinners alone at all hours of the day. It touched Jane in an unexpected way to be laughing and joking around a home cooked meal without talking about their next con or how to score some extra bucks. Everything where the Ruskin's were concerned was beginning to seem much more real than he'd intended.

It was also very difficult not touching Angela, with her sitting so close beside him. His hand slipped from the paper napkin in his lap to rest just above her knee, gently squeezing it. He delighted in how she nonchalantly reached from beneath her own napkin to remove his hand. She gave him an annoyed glance, but he noticed there was amusement there too at his audacity.

After breakfast, he rose and said his good-byes, thanking the family for their hospitality. Angela walked him to the door. As if by magic, he suddenly produced a long-stemmed, pink rose and presented it to her with a flourish and a slight bow.

"For you, my lady."

Behind them at the table, Danny clapped in appreciation of the trick.

Angela blushed and took the rose he'd bought at the convenience store down the road that morning. "Thanks," she said, automatically bringing the flower to her nose.

He bent and kissed her cheek chastely, but he whispered in her ear, "Wear your bikini under your clothes today…I like the pink one the best."

Her eyes widened at the realization that he'd been spying on her while she sunbathed.

"Perv," she replied, and shut the door on his smirking face.

"He's a good kid," Patrick heard Teddy say through the door.

He couldn't ever remember his own dad giving him such a compliment, and it warmed Patrick to his toes. Not for the first time lately, he found himself humming on his way to the Boy Wonder tent.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxx

"So, where were you this morning, Paddy?" asked Alex later in their show tent.

"Teddy invited me to breakfast." It was difficult not to sound smug.

"Well done, boy! So tell me, you get Daddy's girl in the sack yet?"

Patrick instantly felt anger, almost on par with when he saw that creep assaulting Angela last night.

"Angela's not that kind of girl," he ground out.

"What? You slipping, Paddy? When I was your age, all I had to do was give a girl the old Jane smile and her clothes would fall off as if by magic. Don't take your eyes off the prize. Time's a-wasting."

Patrick wondered if Alex would use every cliché he knew to convince him.

"Let me handle it my way, okay?"

"Okay, okay. Don't get your knickers in a twist. But look, I was gonna ask you if I could borrow your new car to go into town this afternoon. I have an appointment at one for a treatment."

"I thought your doctor was in Sacramento."

"Oh, he is. But he knows our travel situation, so he called and referred me to a doctor in Springfield. It shouldn't take long, but I might feel a little weak and sick afterwards."

"Well," said Patrick slowly, "I guess I can cancel with Angela—"

"No, no! Don't do that! You kids go ahead with your plans. That takes priority right now over my cancer. We need Miss Moneybags to pay those doctor bills that'll start rolling in, remember? I'm sure Pete will be happy to drive me, or loan me his pickup."

Patrick eyed his father, his stomach churning with concern and guilt. "You sure you don't need me to be there?"

"That's okay, Paddy. Though you might have to handle the show alone tonight, depending on how I feel. Or, better yet, ask the Ruskin boy to stand in for me. That'll look good to the boss. Just tell Teddy I'm feeling under the weather, but it's only a temporary thing."

Patrick nodded. "If you're sure…"

"Hey, calm the mother hen act; I'll be fine. Does my heart good to see you so concerned for your old man for a change." He clapped his son firmly—almost _too_ firmly—on the shoulder and went into the stage area.

Patrick tried not to be too hurt by Alex's sarcasm and lack of need for his help. That was just Alex being Alex. He continued brushing his dad's old suit for the night's performance, then, realizing the time, he glanced in the mirror at the blue t-shirt and cut off shorts he wore. He'd be alone with Angela soon, and in his book that more than trumped his father's careless slights.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Angela had been ready for all of thirty minutes, but she was so wound up to see Patrick Jane that she decided to meet him ten minutes early at his tent. She supposed it would make her look a bit too eager, but for some reason she didn't care, and she had the feeling Patrick wouldn't either, given the way he looked at her over breakfast that morning.

Her idea to love him and leave him certainly wasn't going according to plan. He and his magic tricks and his white knight routine, not to mention that wicked smile of his were starting to backfire on her in a big way. She picked up her beach bag and smiled as she gave a last sniff of the pink rose she'd put in a Coke bottle by her bed. With a light heart, she skipped down the steps, her sandals flipping and flopping as she walked toward the Midway.

Outside the rear tent door, Angela heard voices. She was about to give a polite call for entry, but when she heard her name mentioned, she hesitated, unashamedly eavesdropping. She gasped softly when she heard that Alex Jane apparently had cancer.

When the conversation seemed to be winding down, she took off at nearly a run to make it to Patrick's car before he did. When he finally sauntered into view of the parking lot, she was leaning against the red Corolla, smoking a cigarette to try to calm her nerves.

"Hey baby," he said, grinning widely in appreciation of the short yellow sundress she wore. He noted the familiar pink strings of her bikini top beneath the dress's spaghetti straps, and his eyes darkened in anticipation.

He bent to kiss her, but she blew smoke in his face to ward him off.

"You lied to me, Wonder Boy," she said coldly, taking another puff. "Gambling debts, my ass."

His smile abruptly faded. "What?"

"I was listening outside your tent earlier. Seems your dad isn't in debt with a bookie, but with the doctors. Why didn't you just tell me that?"

Patrick appraised her body language. She seemed more hurt than angry. He could work with that.

"Sometimes a lie sounds more believable than the truth."

Her eyes narrowed. "Since when?"

"Look, what if I _had_ told you my dad needed money because he has cancer. You would have thought I was playing some sympathy scam on you, and you know it. It frankly sounded more likely that he would be gambling. Actually, it sounds more believable to _me_, and I know the truth."

"Well, you could have at least tried. Unless there was some other reason for not telling me."

_Oh, she was good_, Patrick thought. _There would be no getting away with much bullshit around her._

"There is something else," he admitted. She dropped her cigarette to the ground and put it out beneath her sandal.

"Tell me all of it-and the truth this time, or our deal is off."

He leaned against the car beside her, the heavy humidity combining with his unusual nervousness. He was never nervous, or at least, never let it show. But with this girl…He could feel the sweat gathering on his forehead and on his chest and back, and he pulled his t-shirt away from his body in a vain effort to circulate some air. Angela, however, looked like the proverbial ice maiden. She crossed her arms in front of her and waited expectantly.

He sighed. "The chemo Dad's going to go through could knock him out of commission a lot over the next month or so. We thought your dad would tell him that if our show couldn't operate at full capacity, he'd shut us down. People tend to overreact when the word _cancer _comes up."

Angela gave a small snort. "With good reason, I would think."

"Hey, I'll cover for him somehow." He looked at her sheepishly, putting on his best hangdog expression. "You're not gonna tell Teddy about this, are you?"

"I should," she said coldly. "You can put away those puppy dog eyes, Wonder Boy; it's not working. Now, is that all of it?"

_What the hell? _He thought in defeat. _In for a penny…_ "My dad knows about our deal, and still wants me to go after your money, to marry you and become the heir apparent to this great carnival dynasty of yours."

"I figured that out already, you idiot. We're conning both our father's remember? That was the original idea, if I recall. Unless you really thought you could get away with seducing me to get what you want. If that's the case, buster, I've got news for you."

He stepped closer to her, putting his hands on the car on either side of her body, pinning her.

"Oh, I have lots of ideas about what I'd like to do with you, Angel," he said. "But in every scenario, you come to me willingly—no seduction required."

"In your dreams," she said, her voice still firm, but her legs feeling like rubber.

"Frequently," he said with a smirk.

"But maybe I'm the one conning you, Patrick," she said, her fingers reaching up to twine around a curl behind his ear. Her eyes had gone smooth and dark as rich chocolate, and for a moment, Patrick felt he would gladly drown in them. "Maybe I'm planning to make you fall in love with me," she continued, and her touch was sending shivers up and down his spine, despite the heat. "Only to rip your heart out and leave you bleeding on the Midway, once you've served my purposes."

He stared back at her, the truth of her words dawning on him. She wasn't kidding.

"That _was_ your plan, wasn't it?" he said, a hint of anger there. A week ago, he would have admired the genius of it—a con within the con—but he was suddenly angry that he would have been totally vulnerable to this sexy girl's diabolical plan. He'd been thinking with his dick again, just like his dad had warned him.

He stepped away from her and she laughed at his wounded expression. "Call it self-preservation, Paddy," she told him. "I mean, look at you. You're a showman, a grifter. You use girls all the time, and I knew you'd do anything to get to my money. I wasn't about to become one of your marks, and so I had to think of something to make sure that didn't happen."

Then a new thought occurred to him, and his anger melted away to a small smile. "Why are you telling me this now? Why are you filling me in on your evil plan before it even has a chance to work?"

"Who says it hasn't already?" she teased.

"Because I'm totally immune to your charms, Angel. You forget you're playing with a pro now. "

She smiled knowingly. Despite his worldly air and his ability to manipulate others, he was a man like any other man. He wanted her, and she knew it, even in her limited experience. A girl just knows these things.

"Yeah, right."

She decided to let him off the hook, but she considered him firmly put in his place. There would be no more even thinking of trying to take advantage of Angela Ruskin.

"So," she said, "are we going to stand out here all day in this sauna, or are you going to take me swimming somewhere?"

She still hadn't answered his question, but he was suddenly tired of the seriousness of their conversation. He'd been looking forward to seeing her in that bikini all day.

"Swimming? Did I say anything about swimming?" he asked in mock surprise. At her stony stare, he relented with a grin. "Yes, there's a place I know down on the James River. I go there every year in this part of the carnival circuit. You game?"

"Sure," she said. "It's hot as hell."

Before she could protest, he grabbed her and kissed her hard on the mouth, then

he opened the car door for her and she slid inside, heart pounding. She tossed the beach bag she'd brought with her in the back seat, which she'd packed with a towel, suntan lotion and a change of clothes. She saw Patrick had stowed his own towel, as well as a picnic basket and an ice chest. He was a smooth one, all right. He got in and started the car, cranking up the air conditioning along with the radio.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxx

The "place he knew" turned out to be a dammed up part of the river, which, by the look of the knotted rope hanging from a tree and the wooden platform extending out into the water, was a popular swimming hole. Fortunately, thought Patrick, it was deserted at the moment; he wanted Angela Ruskin and her pink bikini all to himself.

Patrick took a deep breath of the humid air, heavily laden with the scent of wild honeysuckle and damp earth. He took off his blue t-shirt, and Angela tried her best to look nonchalant in the presence of such beauty. She hadn't beheld him shirtless since the first time she'd seen him in daylight, and that had been from a distance. Up close, he was even more impressive. It wasn't that he was overly muscular—he had a swimmer's body rather than one like the muscle-bound pretty boys she knew in Santa Barbara. His arms and chest were nicely shaped from hard work, not an expensive gym, his stomach toned, his entire torso smooth and tan. He looked outdoorsy, healthy, and unbearably sexy.

She obviously didn't appear as nonchalant as she'd hoped, for it wasn't long before he called her out for staring. She flushed.

"Your turn," he invited, nodding to her clothes.

_Why was it so difficult to remove one's clothing without it looking like a striptease?_ Angela thought. She undid the row of buttons that ran up the front of her dress as quickly and efficiently as possible, mindful of Patrick's interested gaze as more and more skin was revealed. She slipped the straps from her shoulders and laid the dress carefully in the car, then she stood before him in nothing more than her two-piece and her flip-flop sandals.

"Wow," she heard him say under his breath, but before he could say another word, she stepped out of her flip-flops and ran to the rope, jumping up on it and swinging out far over what she hoped was the deepest part of the swimming hole.

With a cry of exhilaration, she dropped into the cool water with an impressive splash.

"Woo!" she said, resurfacing and slicking her hair back from her face. "This is great! Are you coming in or what?"

Patrick smiled and toed his Nikes off, then repeated her actions, but giving an extra whoop as he went in. When he didn't come up right away, Angela looked around the pool, a smile still frozen on her face. The seconds passed.

"Patrick? I'm not falling for this lame old gag, so you may as well show yourself."

Then she felt his warm arms around her waist as he came out of the water and embraced her from behind.

"You asshole!" she said, kicking to stay afloat in ten feet of water. He chuckled evilly into her neck, pulling her wet body against his chest.

"You would have missed me if I'd drowned."

"Only because I don't know the way back home."

"Uh-huh," he said knowingly.

He moved aside her sopping hair to press his open mouth to her neck. She shivered with the combined sensuality of the cool water, the warm air, and his hot mouth on her wet skin. She turned in his arms, the slickness of their nearly naked bodies almost unbearably pleasurable. He was facing her now, smiling that smile, his eyes sparkling at her in the dappled sunlight, curls dripping over his forehead. In later years, she would remember this as the moment she knew that there could be no other man for her.

He must have seen her epiphany in her eyes, for his grew suddenly serious with intent, and he pulled her closer. His mouth captured hers in a kiss free of artifice, free of plans and schemes, free of an audience. It went on and on, neither of them wishing to ever stop, though it took a lot of effort to kiss and keep afloat in deep water at the same time. He began kicking them toward the bank until they were able to stand, and it was then that his hands moved to the strings that tied behind her neck. While he kept her mouth occupied, he worked at the knot until the triangle scraps of cloth fell away and his hands replaced them over her breasts.

She gasped into his mouth as his thumbs passed over her nipples, and he deepened the kiss further until she thought she might faint from excitement and lack of oxygen. He sensed her struggle and pulled away from her lips to kiss her neck, then lower, to her breasts. Her fingers wove through his hair as she held him to her, her heart pounding so hard it blocked out the sound of the birds.

His hands moved across her flat stomach to her waist, then lower, slipping inside her bikini bottoms to cup her bottom, pushing her into the hardness within his cutoffs. She tensed in his arms.

"Patrick," she breathed. "No…we can't…"

"Oh, God, Angela…please…don't stop now." He increased the sweet torture on her breasts.

"I'm sorry," she said with herculean effort. The last thing she wanted was to be labeled a tease, but this was happening way too fast for her brain to keep up with her body.

She disentangled herself and turned away with a belated attack of modesty. She pulled up her bikini top and attempted to retie the strings with shaking fingers. Patrick, still breathing heavily, moved to help her, but he was no steadier than she was.

"Thanks," she murmured when she was covered again. "How about I set out our picnic," she said.

"Sure…but I uh, need a few minutes," he said, and she blushed when she got his meaning.

"Okay."

She walked up to the sandy bank and out of the water, and she heard him groan behind her as he took in the view of her scantily clad rear end. He began swimming laps from bank to bank while Angela retrieved her towel from the car and wrapped it around her trembling body.

She couldn't believe what she'd allowed him to do to her, that it had been so easy to let him, so natural to feel his mouth upon her bare skin. She'd wanted him with a hunger she hadn't known was inside of her, and at last she understood why so many of her friends were no longer virgins. Hell, a few minutes more and she wouldn't have been one herself. She shivered, and busied herself unloading the rest of the supplies from the car.

Inside the wicker picnic basket, she found a plaid blanket which she spread out on a flat place on the beach. She was pleased to see sandwiches, a container of deviled eggs, large chunks of watermelon, and homemade brownies. The ice chest contained cans of Coke and…beer? She looked over at Patrick, who seemed to be winding down his attempt to pull himself together. He rose out of the river like some sort of water god in cut-offs, and walked over to where she sat on the blanket. She tossed him his towel, and he wiped his face and hair gratefully.

"This looks great," he said in appreciation of the spread before him.

"Yes it does. Who made all this?"

Patrick smiled and sat down on the blanket, throwing the towel over his shoulders.

"I'm offended, Angela. You don't think I can make a sandwich?"

Of course, she wasn't buying it, and his smile widened.

"Samantha put this together for me, but I owe her a favor for it."

"I assume she didn't pack the beer," she said, tossing him a cold one. "Are you even twenty-one yet?"

"Nope. These come courtesy of dear old Dad," he said with a grin. "Of course, he doesn't know it yet."

She shook her head at him, and, to his great admiration, helped herself to one.

They ate in silence a few minutes, before Patrick felt compelled to speak.

"Angela…I'm sorry I got carried away. I really didn't intend—"

She shook her head at him. "I told you not to lie to me, Patrick."

He had the grace to look sheepish. "Okay, I'd be lying if I said I didn't want to be with you, that I didn't hope something would happen between us today. But I want you to know that I don't look at you as just another conquest. You're…different."

She took a sip of her beer and smiled ruefully. "Yeah, I said no."

"Okay, I deserve that," he said, amused.

They finished eating and packed everything away but the blanket. They sat on the bank talking, she about her home in Santa Barbara, he telling funny stories about the life of a carnie. They swam some more, both of them cautious about touching, knowing where it would likely lead. Patrick didn't want to start something only to be rejected again, and Angela feared she'd give in to him completely if he made another move like before, so they remained wary, though they continued to joke and banter as before, getting into splash fights and jumping several times from the rope swing. The air was charged with their mutual attraction, and they both felt the shift in their relationship. This was no longer a game, no longer pretend. It was terrifying to each of them, but for different reasons.

"We have to get going," Patrick said reluctantly, glancing at his waterproof watch. "I promised Samantha I'd run an errand in Springfield for her in payment for our picnic, but then I have to hurry back for my first show."

She stood and they shook out the blanket together, then folded it carefully, each holding two corners. When they met at the fold in the middle, Patrick risked giving her a quick kiss.

"This was fun," he said, a soft gleam in his eye.

"Yes," she replied. "Thank you for inviting me." Her polite words belied the pleasant hum of awareness in her veins.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

In downtown Springfield, Patrick expertly parked the Toyota in front of a local drugstore. He reached across her bare thighs to open the glove box, noting her trembling reaction to his touch. He pulled out the list Samantha had written for him, and shuddered.

"Jesus, she's making me pay all right. Have a look at this list."

She took it from his hands and read the list of five items, most of them feminine hygiene products. She laughed.

"Say," he ventured, "you wouldn't mind going in and buying this stuff for me, would you? I mean, I want to make sure I get the right things…"

"No way, Wonder Boy," she said, returning the list to him. "This was your deal, not mine."

"You, _Angel,_ are not very aptly named."

She laughed again. "Like I've been trying to tell you…"

He stopped her laughter with a swift kiss, before stuffing the list in his pocket and muttering to himself about heartless females.

She watched in amusement as he entered the store, secretly hoping the experience for him was as uncomfortable and embarrassing as possible.

While she waited, she rolled down the windows and propped her bare feet on the dashboard, her eyes going to the mirror on the back of the car's sun visor. She adjusted it to look at herself, hair hanging limply about her neck from the lake water, her cheeks pink from a little too much sun and the headiness of Patrick's kisses.

In the mirror, she caught sight of a familiar pickup stopping across the street behind her. She sat up and turned around in her seat to get a better look. It was Pete's truck, all right, and none other than Alex Jane hopped nimbly down from the passenger's side. He gave a wave to Pete, who sped off down the street. Angela watched with curiosity as Alex entered a sketchy looking shop called _Marilyn's Massage Therapy. _

Angela might be a virgin, but she wasn't innocent in the ways of men. She knew what kind of place that was. Now why would Patrick's father be visiting a likely brothel when he'd just had chemotherapy? There was definitely something fishy about this, and she wondered whether Patrick was still playing her—but no, she thought, she'd overheard that conversation between him and his dad, and they couldn't have known she was outside their tent. Could they?

She found she desperately wanted to believe Patrick, that they'd turned a corner in their relationship and it would henceforth be bullshit free. She thought about confronting him about his father's shady behavior, but maybe she had misinterpreted what was really going on. She owed it to herself as well as Patrick to do a little detective work on her own before making an issue of this. That decided, she settled back into her seat, but her eyes kept wandering to the mirror and to the massage parlor behind her.

A few minutes later, Patrick came out of the drug store with a triumphant smile on his face and a white paper sack in his hand. He got in the car and tossed his purchases into the back seat.

"Mission accomplished," he proclaimed, turning over the engine.

"You got a woman to help you in there, didn't you?" she said suspiciously.

"Well, since I am apparently incapable of getting away with lying to you, I will admit that the drugstore clerk was very eager to help me, and I was very eager to let her."

"Was she cute?" asked Angela.

He smiled that smile that should be classified as a lethal weapon in most states. "Indeed she was, sweetheart, but not nearly as cute as you."

She rolled her eyes at him, but accepted his kiss with a smile of her own.

**A/N: Thanks for reading! If you review, please log in so we can reply. And if you are enjoying this story, tell your friends about it!**

**Starry19's up next! **


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N:** Thank you to everyone who has given this story a shot! I know it's not everyone's cup of tea, but Donna and I both really appreciate your support.

And, who knows, maybe we'll write a story where all Jane and Lisbon do is make out, just as a reward. ;)

**Chapter Six**

The fact that he wanted Angela Ruskin more than just about anything or anyone kept popping up at very inconvenient times over the next several days.

For example, he could be in the middle of a show, and he would catch a glimpse of brown hair out of the corner of his eye. It didn't even matter if it _was_ Angela; the damage was already done. Almost instantly, he would be transported back to their time at the river, her fingers in his hair, her skin so delicious that he thought he could live off of the taste.

It would take a massive exercise in self-control to keep the show going instead of blissfully sinking into vivid daydreams where she didn't stop him. Of course, he was quite content reliving what had actually happened, too.

Almost every day, he was at the Ruskin's trailer. The sense of family he felt was powerful, and it awoke very different desires in him than those he felt for the woman who usually sat next to him, though she was certainly tied into those fantasies, too.

What he couldn't quite get over was how much everyone seemed to actually love each other. True, Teddy was attempting to manipulate his daughter into taking over the business, but Patrick honestly thought that if Angela wanted to go off to college in another six weeks, Teddy would let her. Danny was fiercely loyal to both his sister and his father, and Angela's soft smiles when she thought no one was looking showed her feelings perfectly, too.

_Family_. It was a word that, until now, he had usually only applied in the abstract term.

And speaking of family, Alex was practically over the moon about his son's relationship with Angela.

It was a different sort of proud, though, one Patrick couldn't quite put his finger on.

So far, Alex had been weathering the cancer treatments well. Patrick was certainly not an expert, but he thought most people who went through chemotherapy wound up looking like the walking dead, at least for a while.

But, then again, since his father's cancer was in the early stages, perhaps they didn't need to be quite so aggressive with their methods. It was a heartening thought. For all his musings about the Ruskin's, _Alex_ was his family, and he wouldn't really know what to do without him.

It was a rainy day at the carnival, just past noon. He was holed up with Angela in the trailer he shared with his father, Alex having gone out somewhere. It wasn't well insulated, but when you were trying to be romantic, the enhanced sound of the rain did wonders for you.

She was lying against him, her head on his chest, seemingly perfectly content. One of his hands was wrapped around her narrow waist; the other was laced with hers.

Somehow, their relationship had become more than a little real, though he knew they both would deny it to each other.

He hadn't tried to push things physically since almost a week ago – just some (admittedly steamy) kissing and a few (outside the clothes) touches. It was about to drive him insane, but if that was what she wanted, he would respect her decisions.

Besides, he was sort of counting on being able to talk her into relaxing the rules, if only a little. There was something that scared him about being the one to take her virginity, and he wasn't sure if he was willing to go that far. After all, this was supposed to be for show.

Soft music was playing from the beat up radio in the tiny kitchen. This deep in Missouri, the only thing it picked up was country, but he had the volume down so low that the twanging voices didn't bother him.

Angela seemed not to mind, occasionally singing softly along.

"I hope it pours all day," he murmured, lips brushing her hair.

"Why?" she asked, just as quietly.

"No one will show up tonight. I could use the day off." It was true; their schedule had been crazy lately. They were at the peak of summer shows, and the trips to the next town were quick enough that everyone had been going non-stop for what seemed like a short eternity.

"Don't tell me you're getting tired of taking innocent people's hard earned money," she joked, hand on his hip.

"Angel, people are rarely innocent," he shot back. And that was another thing – she had stopped objecting to his use of her nickname, at least when he said it.

She propped one elbow up on his chest, staring down at him with a challenging expression. "How not innocent do they have to be before you stop feeling bad about it?"

"It's not my business how innocent people are, sweetheart," he told her, adjusting his hold. "I don't ask. I just give them a little bit of hope to make their banal existences a touch brighter. It's a lesson my father taught me – hope is a precious commodity, and I sell it well."

At the mention of his father, something changed behind her eyes, but for the life of him, he couldn't quite put his finger on _what_. She didn't like Alex, that was obvious, and he really couldn't blame her. However, he supposed he did appreciate that she had kept her opinions of the man to herself lately.

"Yes, you do," was all she said, and then, surprising him, leaned forward and caught his lips.

He relaxed immediately, telling her with his body language that she was free to do whatever she wanted. That was one of the things he adored about her – she was brash as all hell, and if she wanted a kiss, she was going to come and take one.

She twined their fingers together, then raised their joined hands over his head, straddling his waist now. He loved the feeling of being at her mercy, regardless of her actual physical strength. At that moment, he was quite sure it was obvious how much he was enjoying himself, especially given how she was sitting.

Tentatively, she pressed her hips against his, and he groaned involuntarily, wrestling his hands away from her grip. He ran his fingers up the back of her bare thighs, silently blessing whoever came up with concept of short shorts.

Carefully, slowly, he felt his way up past the hem of the faded denim. Her body was tense, but she hadn't pulled back. He didn't know how far she was going to let him go, but she was going to let him do _something_.

Naturally, Alex Jane chose that precise time to walk back in the door. They were far enough away from the entrance that they were hidden from view, but Angela still shrieked quietly and rolled off of him.

He couldn't help it – he laughed loudly.

She did not look amused.

In a minute or so, Alex appeared, looking smug. "Interrupting something?" he asked.

Patrick didn't even need to see Angela's face to know she was bright red. He decided to have mercy on her. "Not a thing," he said glibly. "Angela was actually just getting ready to go back. I was planning on showing Danny a few things this afternoon before we opened."

Alex's smirk didn't dissipate. "Have fun then, Paddy."

He walked her back to her trailer under the shelter of the bright pink umbrella she'd brought. She was silent, and he honestly thought she might be too embarrassed to speak. It was an endearing concept. They normally held hands, but today he wrapped an arm around her, wanting her close, even if she wasn't going to talk to him.

There were very few people outside in the weather, and even those who were hardly spared them a glance. They were the power couple of the summer, it was true, but the sight of them together had become common place. It had caused a few stirs when they'd first put this charade together – the princess and the psychic. Generally, he'd heard murmurs that she was too snooty for her own good and that all he was going to do was run around behind her back.

Lately, though, the whispers had changed, and now sounded surprisingly optimistic. He supposed the few romantics that were left in the show were going to have their hearts broken when summer came to an end.

He hoped he wasn't one of them.

As she climbed the few steps to the trailer, he pulled her back for a lingering kiss, silently promising that he was willing to finish what she'd started whenever she wanted. The rain sounded unnaturally loud against the fabric of the umbrella.

He followed her inside, toeing off his shoes out of habit.

Danny was lounging on the couch, bowl of chips balanced on his chest. He was watching some terrible horror movie that Patrick had never seen, and, judging by what was going across the screen, probably never _should _see. Mutant rabbits from Neptune, indeed.

Angela shook her head in her brother's general direction before heading into the kitchen.

"Danny boy," Patrick said, "ready to get to work?"

The younger Ruskin groaned audibly, but swung his legs down.

"Atta boy," he encouraged. "You and I have things to do. The crowd tonight should be pretty small, which means I'm going to be leaning on you more. Time to add some things into your performance."

As he predicted, Danny lit up like the morning sun. It had made him uneasy in the beginning, the admiration the young man seemed to have for him, but recently it had become gratifying. He hadn't really taken the time to wonder at the change.

He blew an exaggerated kiss at Angela as Danny collected his things. "I'll have him back in plenty of time to get ready," he promised.

"I wasn't worried," she said, sitting on the couch her brother had just vacated and cracking open a bottle of Coke. He watched her move with unconcealed admiration. Damn, some women just had it, whatever _it_ was.

"See you later?" he asked, Danny now standing eagerly at his elbow.

She smirked. "If you're lucky, Wonder Boy."

He couldn't help but hope her choice of words was intentional, and he was indeed about to get lucky.

XxXxXxXxX

Angela watched her brother and her…boyfriend…make their way through the sodden fairgrounds. Naturally, neither of them had an umbrella. Men. They were definitely always the same when it came to some things.

Sighing, she stretched out on the couch, absently flipping through the channels. Anything had to be better than what Danny had left on the screen.

Her mind wasn't with the shows, though.

It was currently wandering into territory she had very rarely visited before, but seemed to becoming familiar ground now.

She had come to a decision a few days ago, and though it made her nervous, she was sticking to it.

There was no point in lying to herself – despite some of his more questionable qualities, she had fallen in love with Patrick Jane. Yes, he was arrogant and far too charming and he apparently had no qualms about fleecing the general public.

But.

She couldn't help but remember how he had looked the night she was attacked, how he had rushed to her rescue and stayed with her until she was tucked in bed. Or how it felt to be close to him. And the fact that he stopped every time she told him to.

As much as he tried to hide it, there was something infinitely valuable in Patrick, and the glimpses she'd had at the man he could be were intoxicating.

Which led to the choice she had recently made.

Her first time was going to be with Patrick Jane. She wasn't idealistic, wasn't saving herself for marriage or anything so mundane. She'd just never been tempted before.

He would make it good for her, she knew that. And, even if it wouldn't mean much to him, she would rather this first time be with someone she loved.

She had said it before – there was no one else like Patrick Jane in this world. When this summer ended, she was leaving. This wasn't the life for her, and she knew it. But Patrick…he wasn't meant for the real world. She couldn't picture him selling insurance or teaching English, though he would undoubtedly be fantastic at both.

So she was going to be telling him goodbye. He would move on, that much was certain, but she liked to entertain the idea that by giving him her virginity, they would always be connected, if only distantly.

She knew it sounded like some terrible tripe from the romance novels she secretly devoured, but that was the way she felt, and she couldn't help it.

The problem was, now that she had come to this conclusion, she wasn't sure what to do about it.

Originally, she figured she would just…not stop him the next time he tried something. The problem was, he had done a respectable job of keeping his hands to himself. Mostly.

She had no idea how to seduce a man, either. It probably wasn't that difficult, but she simply couldn't picture herself being coy and teasing. A direct approach wasn't going to work for her either – she would probably rather die than say something to the effect of, "your trailer or mine?"

Today had seemed like a good opportunity. Alone for an unspecified amount of hours, access to a bed…yes, it had seemed like an excellent plan. She had even worn a matching bra and panties.

Which Patrick hadn't been able to appreciate, thanks to the fabulous timing of his father.

With a frustrated sigh, she rolled to her side. The thought of Alex Jane always left a sour taste in her mouth.

In an hour or so, the rain let up enough that she decided to go outside. It was too stuffy within the four walls of the trailer for her current state of mind. It didn't help that she kept thinking of Patrick untying the strings of her bikini last week at the river.

Bored and restless, with no real place to go, she wandered around the soggy grounds, trying to avoid the bigger mud puddles. Despite the rain, the whole place still smelled a little stale.

Before she knew it, she had found her way to the Boy Wonder tent. Quietly, in case Patrick and Danny were practicing, she entered the enclosure, eyes adjusting to the dimmed light.

Alex Jane and someone she didn't know were standing off to one side, engaged in an animated conversation, clearly not having heard her come in. Patrick was nowhere to be found.

She was going to leave, but the mention of her own name held her attention.

"He's doing just like I told him," Alex was telling the other man. "Angela Ruskin is practically eating out of the palm of his hand."

The words were utterly distasteful, but then again, she already knew what Alex had attempted to do.

"Jesus," the other man said. "I wish my kid listened to me half as well as yours did. You trained him well, Jane."

Alex's smile was visible even from the distance she was at. "It helps when you have leverage. In the beginning, Paddy didn't want to play along. Sometimes I wonder about him…there was all that money there for the taking… Anyway, I could see he was going to refuse. So I fed him a story about cancer treatments and medical bills, and he couldn't change his tune fast enough."

The two men shared a cackle, and Angela used the noise to slip away, Alex Jane's words still ringing in her ears.

The son of a bitch was faking his cancer to get his son to do what he wanted. That was beyond the beyond. You didn't _fake cancer_, for the love of God.

And Patrick, poor Patrick, he was worried his father was dying. Her heart felt like it was breaking.

What sort of parent put their child through something like that?

She felt a murderous sort of rage overtake her. Her immediate urge was to tell her father, to get Alex Jane removed from their carnival. Teddy might have loved making money, but he did have some moral standards. Faking terminal illnesses was definitely over the line.

But then her mind went to Patrick again, and she knew that she had to tell him first.

God, what was his reaction going to be? She couldn't imagine a betrayal like that, especially from someone that was supposed to have his back implicitly.

Deeply bothered, she returned to her trailer, hoping either Danny or Patrick would be around. There was a note stuck to her bedroom mirror.

_Angel – I was here. Where were you? See you soon! –Patrick_

Well, damn it all. They had already left for the night.

Fine. She would wait until later. It's not like her news would lose any of its potency. Fuming, she got into the shower, noting that her hands were shaking in anger. She had rarely felt this sort of revulsion, especially over something that wasn't even really directed at her.

The smug, cocky, son of a bitch. That explained his stupid expression every time he saw them together. She wanted to scream, wanted to throw things. Wanted to leave this whole horrible place behind her.

Wanted to take Patrick with her.

Despite his easy lies, she honestly believed he had no idea of what his father was doing. Otherwise he wouldn't have gone through the trouble of concocting the story about gambling debts. He would have led with the cancer card, knowing it would have packed a potent punch.

And she had seen his emotions in his eyes when he told her what he thought was the truth. She knew him well enough now that she was confident of that.

Like Patrick had predicted, the rain kept most of the bigger crowds away. The showers had returned in full force, and no one was expecting a significant turnout. She took her usual seat in the back of the Boy Wonder tent, looking distastefully at the spot where she had overheard that horrible conversation earlier.

She hardly saw a bit of the show, though she knew Danny was supposed to be taking a more in depth role tonight. All she could think about was how she was going to break the news to Patrick. How did you tell someone their father was a disgusting liar on the scale that she had never encountered before?

There were no private readings tonight, probably due to the weather, so Patrick found her much earlier than normal. Despite her anger, she hadn't left the tent, still remembering what had happened the last time.

He knew at once that something was off. "What's the matter?" he asked without preamble, expression concerned.

"Not here," she said quietly, eyes darting over to where Alex still stood.

Patrick followed her gaze, face darkening. "Alright," he said warily. "Let's go."

This time, she was the one that reached for his hand. She knew her grip was too tight, but it didn't seem to matter.

He led her to his empty trailer, flipping on the kitchen light as they entered. Legs feeling wobbly, she perched on a rickety chair.

"What's going on?" Patrick asked, sitting across from her.

She took a deep breath. Now that the moment was here, it suddenly seemed impossible to get the words out. She swallowed, then stupidly, she felt tears come to her eyes.

Looking properly frightened now, Patrick sank to his knees in front of her, taking both of her hands. "Angela, please," he murmured, "you're scaring me. Are you alright?"

Nodding, she softly touched his cheek. "I'm fne," she whispered, "but I don't know if you're going to be."

Summoning her courage, she blurted out the story she had come to tell. As she went on, Patrick's hands became limp in hers, expression changing from concerned to downright cold.

"That's impossible," he said when she was finished. "My dad might not be a saint, Angela, but there's no way he would do something like this."

"I'm telling you," she said earnestly, "He's making it all up. It was his way of making you date me. I know this is about the most awful thing you could imagine, but I'm not lying."

There was denial in his eyes, and she understood that. No child wanted to believe that their parent tricked them into thinking they were dying.

"No," he said, then louder, "_no_." His voice was angry. "You don't have any proof of any of this. For all I know, _you're_ the one making things up. You've never liked him, Angela, and don't deny it."

She felt her own temper rise. "Gee, I wonder why, Paddy?" she asked. "Maybe it was because he actually wanted you to date me to get your hands on some money? Use your damn brain," she spat, pushing her chair back. "I saw him," she added, her hand on the door, "when you took me to Springfield. He was getting a massage at one of those happy endings places. Sort of a far cry from chemotherapy, don't you think?"

Something crossed his face, some shadow of doubt, but she left before he could speak again.

The night was damp and dark, rain falling heavily again, but she hardly felt it as she stormed across the grounds back to her own trailer.

Danny and her father were both there when she arrived, the whole place brightly illuminated. There was no way to hide her anger or her tears when they asked what the problem as. For, clearly, she was very far from alright.

"What a piece of work," Teddy whispered when she had finished. Thankfully, he seemed to believe her. She had conveniently left out the part where Alex had only concocted that story in the first place so that Patrick would make a play for her.

There were lines she was unwilling to cross yet, and Patrick really had been innocent for the most part. She had tried to make that clear.

"I'll talk to him in the morning, Ang," her father promised. "If it's true, I can't have him here. There are just some things you don't do, especially to your children."

Their conversation faded out after that, everyone lost in their own thoughts.

A sudden knock on the door, an hour or so after she'd returned, shattered the quiet. Some gut feeling told her who was on the other side, and she quickly stood.

She was right. Patrick was standing on the bottom step, drenched to the bone, looking utterly dejected.

"I asked him," he whispered, and she could barely hear him over the rain. "I asked him, and he just told me there was no point in denying it anymore."

In the light coming from the living room, she could see that something had shattered behind his lovely green eyes. Trust, what remained of his innocence, she wasn't sure.

She took his cold hand, pulling him forward.

Immediately, Teddy understood what had happened. "Feel free to stay here as long as you need to," he said, and Angela felt a rush of warmth toward her father. "Danny can bunk with me, and you can set up camp on the couch."

"Thank you, sir," Patrick said softly, his shoulders slumped.

The next half hour was a bit of a blur. Patrick dressed in Danny's clothes while she hurriedly made up a bed on the couch.

"Don't talk for too long, Ang," her father warned as he shut off the lights in the kitchen. "You need to get some sleep."

She nodded her understanding before sitting next to Patrick on the couch. He hadn't spoken much, just a few whispered _thank yous_.

This was not a man she was used to seeing, and it made her heart hurt.

Carefully, she pulled him into her arms, swinging her legs onto the couch. He came willingly, face pressed against her neck, damp curls getting her shirt wet.

"I'm sorry," he murmured into her skin. "I just didn't want to believe it."

"Shh," she whispered, tightening her hold. "It's okay. I didn't want to, either." She kissed his hair. "Just relax," she told him, rocking gently.

She felt him smile, just a little. "You really are an angel, you know." There was nothing she could say back to that, but she did smile, even if he couldn't see it.

Turning off the table lamp, she shifted so that she was completely stretched out, Patrick lying almost on top of her. He was heavy, but she wouldn't have moved for the world.

After a while, she realized the moisture she'd felt on her neck wasn't from his wet hair.

It was from his tears.

**A/N: Aww, that was depressing! Hopefully, Donna can perk everyone up next chapter! Stay tuned! **

P.S. Donna here—I promise to reply to your reviews of ch. 5 very soon! Sorry for the delay.


	7. Chapter 7

A/N: Thanks again to all those who are taking a chance on this fic and hanging in there with us. Starry19 and I are so grateful for your support! Just a caution that this chapter strays far into the "M" zone, but I tried to make it tasteful. Enjoy!

**Chapter 7**

Patrick woke up with a stiff neck from the too-short couch and from sleeping in an awkward position. He had fallen asleep in Angela's arms, and sometime in the early morning she had gone back to her own bed—a wise choice, given what Teddy would probably do to him if he found his innocent daughter sleeping with a man on his own couch. His head hurt as if he'd been drinking too much, and his despair of the night before had now firmly shifted to anger. He got off the couch and used the cramped bathroom, washing his hands and face while resolving to confront his father again. He paused a moment to look at his face in the mirror.

His eyes were slightly puffy from crying, his cheeks stubbly, his hair an unruly mess.

"Well, Patrick," he said to himself. "What the hell are you going to do now?"

He took a deep breath, preparing himself mentally for what he was about to do. He'd known his father was a con artist his entire life, had been raised to be one himself. But it was supposed to be true what they said about honor among thieves, and he had been naïve to think that it should apply doubly to close relatives.

His father would never have received a Father of the Year award, especially right after his mother died. The day of her funeral he'd disappeared for weeks, likely on a drinking binge, and Patrick had spent some time with Child Protective Services of California in Carson Springs because of it. It had taken him a long time to get over the feeling that not only had he lost his mother, but his father had abandoned him as well.

Since he'd had no other relatives that they could find, a bogged down social services had gladly returned him to his father (once he'd sobered up), who had claimed the death of his wife had temporarily crippled him emotionally. Patrick had been so happy to be back with Alex that he'd forgotten that Alex was responsible for his being there in the first place.

Without his mother there to be a buffer against the seamy underbelly of carnival life, Alex had groomed Patrick with a vengeance. He'd created Boy Wonder, taught him to read people, taught him magic, sleight of hand, and all the tricks of a swindler. Patrick had taken to it like he'd been born to it-given who his father was, he figured it had to be genetic.

He patted his face dry with a towel and ran his fingers through his hair. The time had come to part ways with his father and strike out on his own. It was a scary proposition, but a necessary one. He'd learned everything he could from the man, and it was better to leave now before he became totally like him, without a conscience or sense of personal responsibility. He could do it now, he realized, with someone like Angela there to remind him of all that was good in life.

With new determination, he opened the bathroom door, almost running into the lady of his thoughts.

"Oh," she exclaimed in surprise. "I figured you'd left already. Daddy and Danny—"

She was in that tempting shorty pajama set again, and he said nothing at first, but gathered her into his arms and held her tightly to his body. He breathed in the scents of Herbal Essence, Sweet Honesty and coal tar soap, and he knew in that moment that he loved her.

After a full moment in his silent embrace, Angela was compelled to whisper: "Are you okay?"

He pulled slightly away to look at her, his hand brushing a strand of hair away from her face. He kissed her gently on the mouth, and gave her a small smile.

"I'm fine. I was just on my way to make a few things clear to my father, now that I'm not so…emotional."

She nodded in understanding. "You don't want breakfast first? I'll make eggs."

"Later," he said. "It's probably best I do this on an empty stomach."

Her hand came up to cup his cheek. "I'm sorry," she said again.

"Thank you." And he didn't just mean for her expression of sympathy. He kissed her palm, and then her cheek, remembering how she'd held him last night and offered the first genuine compassion he'd received since his mother had died. "I'll see you later."

"Okay," she said helplessly, and she watched him walk quietly and gracefully out of her trailer door.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

The rain of the night before had left the air clean and the fairgrounds a muddy mess. He dodged puddles and stayed on the grass as best he could until he reached the place where his father's trailer should have been. But it was gone, along with the old pickup that was perpetually hooked up to it.

"You never know when you'll have to make a quick getaway," he'd always said jokingly, but Patrick knew he'd meant it. He stared at the empty space, the dripping water hookups all that were left to indicate a trailer had recently been there. He hung his head and walked aimlessly toward the Midway. Once again, when the going got tough, his father had abandoned him.

He was more than a little surprised to find the Boy Wonder tent still in its place, still intact. He lifted the back door flap and went inside. He quickly scanned the dressing area, noting that except for a few of his father's personal items, everything was still there, including a hastily packed suitcase that contained Patrick's things from the trailer.

"I suppose you've figured out he's left," said Teddy Ruskin from the doorway. He came inside.

"Did he say where he was going?" asked Patrick, without much hope of any answers.

"No. I kicked him out of the company, son. Told him a lying bastard like him wasn't welcome to travel with us. We both agreed it was for the best."

This was, of course, the bare bones version of what was really said, Patrick thought, his eyes going to Teddy's red knuckles, but he honestly didn't want to know how that had gone down, or even whether Alex had left in one piece.

"He didn't take the tent," Patrick stated the obvious.

"I bought it from him."

"You what?" he rounded on Angela's father in surprise. He'd figured Alex was in too big of a hurry to get the hell out of Dodge to take the time to tear it down.

"He stole your trust, Patrick. I didn't want him taking your livelihood too. You can pay me back for it when you can and it'll be yours free and clear—that is, if you still want the thing."

Patrick felt like he was seriously on the verge of crying again. This was ridiculous. Nobody did things for others without a motive, at least not in his experience, but when he looked into Teddy's brown eyes, so like his daughter's, he saw that there was no artifice there. The man was being genuinely kind.

"Yes, sir," he said eventually, over the lump in his throat. He reached out to shake the man's hand, and found himself being hugged by a bear.

"Forgive me, son, but Alex Jane was the worst excuse for a father-not to mention a human being-that I've seen in a long time. You're well rid of him, in my estimation. Time you got the chance to be your own man, now."

Patrick closed his eyes, having no recent memory of his own father ever embracing him. "Thank you," he managed, and Teddy released him.

"And you're welcome to bunk with us as long as you want. I'm sure Angela won't have any problem with that." His eyes were sparkling knowingly, and Patrick's cheeks reddened a little.

"Thank you," he said again, and he turned away briefly to wipe surreptitiously at his eyes. "I don't know what else to say."

"One condition though."

Of course, thought Patrick, tensing. There were always conditions to kindness.

"Anything," he said sincerely.

"You'll be needing a full-time assistant now, and I'd be obliged if you let Danny fill that position for you, at least for the rest of the summer."

Patrick smiled. "No problem. I'd be happy to have him. The kid's got a natural talent for this."

"Good. Now, I'll let you get your bearings, son. Tonight's our last night in Missouri, before it's down to Arkansas and we work our way back to California via the southern route. Will you be up to doing your show later?"

"Yes, sir, I think so."

"_Teddy_, son. Call me Teddy."

When he'd left, instead of the desolation Patrick had felt as he'd stared at the empty trailer space, he felt as if the weight of the world had been lifted from his shoulders. It didn't matter that he only had a hundred bucks in his pocket and a shabby old carnival tent—he was free! From now on, the nightly take would be all his, and he could begin to build a life for himself on his own terms.

He had some ideas for improvements, and he couldn't wait to get started. He rubbed his hands together in anticipation. The first thing he needed was a can or two of paint. And some stencils.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

"Where's Patrick?" asked Angela, when her father had returned.

"He's fine, honey. He just needs some time to nurse his wounds." He went to the coffee pot and poured himself a cup.

She narrowed her eyes. "What did you do, Daddy?"

He laughed at her protectiveness toward the boy, then told her the whole story—minus the part about the broken nose and two black eyes he'd given Alex Jane as a parting gift. He wished he'd been wearing his rings, he thought, flexing his bruised knuckles under the table.

"Thank you," she said with a grateful smile, kissing him on the cheek. "You deserve pancakes for that."

"My favorite," he said, sipping his coffee in satisfaction. It had been a very productive morning.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Angela gave Patrick his space that day, despite her almost overwhelming desire to be by his side to gauge how he was faring every minute. His eyes had seemed so bleak that morning. He must have grabbed something to eat from the concession stands, for he hadn't even returned for food (and that man loved a home-cooked meal). Danny was mysteriously gone as well, so she busied herself getting the trailer ready for the next day's departure, and working on her tan. Casey Kasem's American Top 40 countdown on the radio kept her company, and she hummed along with the hits until it was time to get ready for Patrick's show.

She dressed with particular care that night, wearing a mini skirt and the off the shoulder t-shirt she'd worn the night they'd met. She needed very little makeup with her enhanced color, but she played up her eyes to appear dark, mysterious, and hopefully seductive. _Tonight was the night_, she thought. By tomorrow, she would be Patrick Jane's in every way. She shivered just thinking about it, and her pulse rate seemed set on high as she walked gingerly around the puddles on her way to the Boy Wonder tent. Or what she had _thought_ was the Boy Wonder Tent.

To her immense surprise and pleasure, the old the sign on the tent had been painted over in white, new words meticulously stenciled in royal blue and purple: _The Amazing Patrick, Psychic Medium, Man of Mystery and Magic._

She smiled, nodded at the kid he'd enlisted to take tickets at the front door, and went in to find her seat. The stage was now lit with mood enhancing blue lights, the rest of the tent dark and mysterious. Within minutes, Danny came out, dressed in the only suit he owned, looking dapper and much older than his sixteen years. He winked at her, then went into his introductory spiel.

"Ladies and Gentlemen, you are about to witness a rare phenomenon. A man gifted with second sight, a man endowed by the mysteries of the universe with the supernatural ability to communicate with those who have passed on to the Other Side. Please welcome the one…the only…the _phenomenal,_ Patrick, man of mystery and magic!"

There was light applause within the small tent, which became louder when the beautiful young man emerged from behind the red velvet curtains. He was wearing his father's snazzy old suit, but he'd updated it with a new royal blue tie and a crisp white shirt. He looked incredible. The _boy_ was nowhere to be found. She was looking at a confident man who had come into his own.

No longer did Patrick spend time guessing the contents of ladies' purses. He threw out suggestions to the audience, and when he hit upon a close guess, he honed in on that person, describing their dead loved one perfectly, giving them hope that the person was sorry, or not suffering, or happy where they were. Sure, they were just good guesses, and some would even call it fraud, but more and more Angela was beginning to see that what Patrick was doing was a sort of comforting or even joyous lie—like parents told their children about Santa Claus and the Easter Bunny.

He'd told her it was just instinct, just showbiz, but after watching several of his performances, she was convinced that whatever this was—instinct, lucky guesses-this _was_ a gift. Perhaps someday he'd be able to use it in a more legitimate way. She could see him becoming a psychologist, or maybe even a detective, doing a job for which he could feel completely proud. But for now, this is what he knew, and if he made people happy, what was the harm?

After his first show, Patrick beckoned Angela backstage. The moment he had her alone, he backed her into a darkened corner and found her mouth with his.

"I missed you today," he breathed into her ear, before latching onto her ear lobe with his teeth and tongue. She felt her knees buckling, and he chuckled softly when he had to hold her up.

"I was worried about you," she admitted between kisses.

He paused to look into her dazed brown eyes. "It could very well have been the opposite, but this was one of the best days of my life. And I owe it all to you."

She smiled a little shyly up at him, fingering his blue silk tie. "I'm just glad you aren't mad at me anymore. But I'm still having a hard time getting over my anger at what your father did to you. I'd like to kick his ass."

He was touched by her protectiveness. "Don't waste any more energy on anger or vengeance. It will do you no good, and it actually hurts you more than them."

He sighed, placing a gentle kiss on her lips.

"This was my own damn fault anyway; I let myself become Dad's mark. You'd think I'd have known better…seen the signs. But hey, he was running my life, and now, unexpectedly, he's not. Frankly I couldn't be happier."

"But still…he's your dad." Despite her recent frustrations with her own father trying to dictate her life decisions, Angela couldn't fathom him ever doing anything so selfish or hurtful. He wanted what was best for her; they just had different ideas about what that was.

"Not everyone is lucky enough to have a father like yours, Angel."

She nodded, then smiled. "Well, I think your luck is about to change, Wonder Boy, because my dad seems happy enough to adopt you."

She was teasing, of course, but Patrick felt an unexpected lump in his throat, and he hid his true emotions with a deep, toe-curling kiss.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Angela had to wait through The Amazing Patrick's second show and for three private readings before she could see him again without his adoring public. To pass the time, she took a tour around the Midway, uncharacteristically enjoying the crowds, the sounds of the rides, the happy faces of the children. She must be in some sort of love trance, she thought ruefully. Someday, she mused, sipping her Coke, she would be taking her own children to the carnival, hearing their squeals of laughter on the kiddie rides, sharing their cotton candy. She blushed inwardly, imagining her future children with golden blonde curls.

"Hey! Angela!" It was Danny, and she stopped to wait for him as he jogged toward her, still in his suit.

"Dad told me to find you. He got a message that there's a problem with the site location for our next gig. Something about permits or something—I hate the business shit. Patrick's letting us borrow his car to drive ahead."

"Watch your language. _Us?_ You going with him?"

"Yeah. He gave me the old _this will all be yours one day, kid_ speech. Well, at least I get out of working the break down. Patrick said he'd help you pack up the motorhome and drive you guys down to Arkansas tomorrow."

"Hmm," she said, straw in her mouth. She couldn't believe her dad was leaving her unchaperoned…with Patrick, and that he was entrusting him to get their belongings (and her) safely to their next venue. Well, she supposed, technically she was an adult now; it was about time he started treating her like one.

"He really trusts Patrick, doesn't he?" she said aloud.

"Yeah." Danny sounded surprised too. "He hated all your other boyfriends. But they were idiots anyway."

"Shut up, butt face." She shoved his arm hard, and he stumbled away with a laugh.

"You look good in your suit, by the way," she told him.

He straightened his tie and gripped his lapels like a vaudevillian, rocking back on his heels smugly. "I do, don't I? Had chicks slipping me their numbers all night."

She rolled her eyes. "Sure you did."

"Hey, just want you to know, sis, I think Patrick's pretty cool. I approve."

"Gee, thanks. Because I so needed your blessing."

He shrugged. "Seriously, Angela, Patrick's all right. Don't screw it up."

She hugged her brother impulsively. He resisted on principle for a moment, then hugged her back, yanking her hair for good measure when they finally pulled apart.

"Hey!" He narrowly avoided another sock in the arm.

"I'd better go. Dad's waiting in the car for me. He said I could drive part of the way."

"Well, you guys have fun."

"You too," he called, waggling his eyebrows comically. "But not _too_ much fun. Love you!"

"Love you too, smartass!"

With a light heart, Angela walked back to Patrick's show tent. A night and a whole day alone with him. She had an uncertain, exhilarating feeling, like she was standing on the edge of a very high precipice.

She couldn't wait to jump.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Patrick was still doing a reading in the stage area, so Angela found a slip of paper and the stub of a pencil, and jotted down a note which she left on his vanity mirror. She figured she had thirty minutes until he was finished, so she nearly ran back to the trailer.

She checked the small, built-in fridge. They were low on supplies, since this was their last night in Missouri, so she didn't have anything to create a romantic feast. The best she could come up with was mushroom and spinach omelets and a salad. Her father (wisely) didn't keep alcohol in a trailer full of teenagers, so no accompanying white wine to class up the meal. But she could light a candle or two, and put on some sexy music. She flipped through her CD collection. Aww…Billie Holiday should do it.

She had just set the table and put on the salad when the door opened, and in stepped Patrick Jane.

"Why isn't this door locked?" he demanded without preamble. "You may as well have put up a sign: _Female all alone with the door unlocked. Please come in and assault me_."

She turned off the stove, feeling the ire washing over her.

"Well, Daddy must be home!" she said sarcastically, one hand on her hip, the other still clasping the spatula. "Taking his place already, are you?"

By that time he had paused, taking in the music, the dimmed lighting, her bare feet, and the savory smells from the kitchen.

His annoyance melted into a slow, sensual smile as his eyes rested on her angry face. "Hi, honey, I'm home," he amended softly. He reached for her, but she evaded his hands, shaking the spatula in his face.

"Oh, no you don't. Don't think you can turn on the Wonder Boy charm and get away with this. First of all, you're not my daddy. And secondly…I was in such a damn hurry to fix you a damn romantic dinner that I forgot to lock the damn door.

So if I don't get an apology in like two seconds—"

His hand locked on the wrist wielding the kitchen tool, and he pulled her roughly against his body.

"Easy, Little Miss Indepence."

She struggled, but it was only half-heartedly. He was sure she knew what her lithe body wriggling against his was doing to him.

"I'm sorry I jumped all over you, but you should really take it in the way it was intended." His face grew solemn, and she stilled her movements.

"I want to take care of you, Angela," he said simply. His words touched her heart, but she was still Angela Ruskin.

"But I don't need—"

He raised an eyebrow. "The door was unlocked, sweetheart. Look, your daddy put me in charge of your safety, and I intend to take my job very seriously, and so should you."

His eyes were filled with a strange, protective fire that she had only glimpsed the night he'd punched her attacker in the face.

_He loves me, _Angela realized, and her eyes widened at this amazing discovery. He didn't even try to deny what she had obviously seen in him, and for once his face was completely open to her.

Suddenly, a strange confidence filled her, and she realized the power his feelings gave to her. Her earlier nerves evaporated. She dropped her spatula to the carpeted floor and stopped resisting his embrace, stepping even closer. When she felt his burgeoning arousal beneath his jeans, her eyes grew sly, and she moved her hips against him. An unintentional gasp escaped his full lips. _Hmm…interesting._

"Tell me, Wonder Boy…who's going to protect _you_?"

His seductive smile returned, and she began rethinking her prior confidence. An aroused and challenged Patrick Jane was a formidable sight to behold.

"Don't worry about me; I've got my own personal guardian Angel, remember?"

She began to laugh at his corny pun, but he silenced her with his lips on hers. Within seconds, both of them were entirely engrossed in one other, pulses pounding, breaths between kisses ragged and loud. His hands slipped beneath the hem of her shirt, cupping her gently as his mouth moved from her soft lips to her delicately scented neck.

"If you want me to stop," he whispered, "now would be the time to let me know."

"Don't…I don't want you to stop," she finished, her voice only shaking a little.

He pulled back to look into her eyes, double-checking that she knew what she was agreeing to. He remembered she was a virgin, but he also remembered that he was in love with her, and this would be the capper of one of the best days of his life. Angela was obviously willing, and this might be the only chance for a while to have her alone in a bed. Still, he'd only (unwittingly) deflowered one virgin, and that had been an unmitigated disaster.

In typical Angela fashion, she decided it for both of them, grabbing his hand and leading him down the short hall, past her bedroom compartment to her father's more spacious room with its full-sized bed. She flipped on the light switch, which turned on two bed-side lamps. Patrick looked at the space with trepidation, wondering if even he had the audacity to make love to his boss's daughter in the man's own bed.

"My bed is too small, Goldilocks," she said with a bit of nervous humor.

Then he looked from the bed to her, his heart feeling suddenly so full that there was the distinct possibility he might die if he didn't have her now. He smiled and reached out to caress her warm cheek. _God, how he loved this woman._

"Well, okay then," he said.

Before she could say any more, he picked her up and tossed her onto the bed. She let out a cry of surprise and struggled to sit up in her tight skirt. He pulled off his t-shirt, slipped off his shoes and socks, and made quick work of his jeans, while she leaned back on her elbows, watching him in awe. He was tan and slim and sexy as hell, and he filled out his white cotton briefs in a way that would put Tom Cruise to shame, especially at that moment. She flushed and averted her eyes, and he grinned at her modesty.

"Unzip your skirt," he directed softly.

She met his eyes and felt strangely compelled to do his bidding. She lay back against the pillows, her fingers going to the denim placket. She released the button, then pulled down the zipper. He knelt on the bed and took hold of the bottom of the skirt, pulling it slowly down over her hips and thighs, before dropping the garment on the floor. He remained standing at the end of the bed, admiring her legs and her lacy bikini panties.

"Now, your top," he said, eyes drawn to hers again.

She sat up and pulled her arms inside her t-shirt and took it off over her head, shaking out her mussed hair. His eyes had grown dark with desire, and Angela's heart was loud in her ears as her head rested on the pillows once more.

"Your bra," he whispered.

Her fingers went to the front closure, her eyes still on his. When he saw her pale breasts once again, he swallowed hard, his self-control slipping away as he joined her on the bed. He kissed her deeply, and when he rested the weight of his body atop hers, it was the most sensual, most natural thing on the earth. Her hands went to his smooth back, then buried into his hair as he kissed his way down her neck, to her chest, to settle between her breasts. He rested his head there a moment, listening to the crazy tattoo of her heart.

"Angel," he breathed, and then his mouth found one achingly taut nipple. He alternated his hands and his mouth for a few insanely pleasurable minutes, as she gasped and made incoherent noises in her throat. When one deft hand slid down her stomach to slip inside her panties, she instinctively closed her legs.

"Let me in, sweetheart," he said gently. His gaze found hers again, his eyes bright and glassy with desire. "Trust me."

She nodded.

He took a moment to remove her last garment, and she relaxed her thighs for him. Then his hand moved over the most intimate part of her. His mouth continued to pleasure her breasts, while his fingers explored her, adapting to her body's response, circling and teasing until she was on the verge of seeing stars. Tentatively, he inserted one finger inside her body, then two, while his thumb kept up its relentless rotation. She cried out, near her breaking point, but then he abandoned her breasts and replaced his fingers with his mouth.

His soft tongue was such an amazing contrast to his thumb, that her hips rose off the bed with the overwhelming sensation. He lifted her bottom with his hands and feasted upon her sweetness. It took only a moment of that before she felt herself falling over her earlier imagined precipice, crying out his name as she fell.

He watched her come down, his hands caressing her stomach and thighs, a smug smile on his face as he knelt beside her. When she could look at him, she wondered shyly what she should say. _Thank you? That was the most amazing experience I've ever had? More, please?_

She settled for, "Dear God."

He grinned. "I'll take that as a compliment."

"Like you needed more of an ego stroke."

His eyes grew wicked. "No, but there are other things that need stroking."

She rolled her eyes and blushed, but, newly emboldened, she sat up and reached for the waistband of his underwear, drawing him closer to her. She knelt facing him on the bed, her hands gliding over his shoulders, then down his arms. She leaned forward and kissed the middle of his chest, her hands resting on either of his flat nipples. When she flicked them experimentally with her fingernails, he gasped, his hands coming up to cover hers.

"Any more of that and this will be over much sooner than I intended."

She gave him a Cheshire grin, then slid her hands from beneath his to rest on his muscled stomach. She was delighted with how it rippled at her touch. He let her do as she desired, moving lower to caress his firm length outside his briefs. His breathing was decidedly unsteady now, but he maintained his self-control and allowed her to torture him further with her teasing, light touches, his own hands resting on her shoulders or playing idly with her silky hair. Her hands went round to mold against his buttocks, and she was duly impressed with their tightness.

"Hmm," she hummed in appreciation. "Nice." Then her hands slipped inside the front of his underwear and he lost it.

She found herself on her back again, and he got out of those briefs magician quick, pausing only to reach for his jeans on the floor. He fumbled with his wallet, cursed a few times at his unsteady fingers, then withdrew a condom and hastily slid it on. His mouth was on hers again at last, and he allowed his naked body to rest fully upon her. He groaned as his erection pressed against her, and he knew he couldn't hold out much longer.

"Are you ready?"

He looked into her fathomless brown eyes, trying to remember that he needed to take this slowly. She looked a little frightened, but she nodded bravely, her desire far outweighing her fear.

"Yes," she said. He kissed her once more, then reached down to position himself.

He nudged tentatively at her opening, and she tensed, squeezing her eyes tightly shut.

"Angel," he rasped. "Relax. Breathe. Keep your eyes on mine, okay?"

She obeyed, then he bent her knees for her. She took a deep breath before she felt him enter her slowly, by inches, until he hit the barrier of her virginity. He was perspiring now with restraint, and he felt her shaking beneath him. He knew there was only one way to do this, and he dreaded that he would have to hurt her. His lips took hers to distract her, and he plunged all the way through, swallowing her cries of pain. He made himself still again as she got used to him filling her completely.

"You okay?"

Her breasts rose and fell swiftly against his chest.

"Yes," she replied, then: "Please!"

She wasn't exactly sure what she was begging for, but Patrick knew, and when she bucked her hips up against his, he began to give her what she hadn't known she'd desired. Their movements were awkward at first, until she picked up his rhythm and met him thrust for thrust, her brief pain replaced by a slowly building pleasure. He adjusted her legs to wrap around his waist and he was then able to go impossibly deeper, his hips undulating to stroke her in a wonderfully sensitive spot deep inside.

Patrick totally lost himself in her, his panting breaths harsh in her ear, his body slick with perspiration. She felt him tensing on top of her and she instinctively knew that he was close. Then she felt his fingers alight once more between her legs. Her second climax took her totally by surprise, and when her internal muscles convulsed around him, he gave a roar of release, thrusting hard and fast until he collapsed, exhausted.

Still joined with her body, he wrapped his arms around her, burying his face in her damp neck. She could feel his rapid heartbeat against her breasts, and she held him tightly, never wanting to let him go. Words of love hovered on her tongue, but she held back, wondering if it was too soon, or if she had mistaken what she'd seen earlier in his eyes. For the moment, it was enough to feel as close to a human being as she possibly could, both in body and in soul.

She gave a little cry of protest when he at last rolled off of her, and he kissed her quickly before ridding himself of the condom and padding naked to the bathroom. He returned in a few moments with a warm washcloth. When he began gently cleaning her lower body, she blushed to her toes, but he kissed her again, brushing her hands aside.

"Let me," he said. She let him, because he obviously felt responsible for the smears of blood and the achiness she was feeling deep within.

"Was I too—?" he began, and she was inordinately touched that he was the one to seem shy all of a sudden.

"You didn't hurt me," she reassured him. When he skeptically met her eyes, she smiled a bit sheepishly. "Well, not much," she amended. "You were very gentle at first, but then…knew when I didn't want you to be."

She was grateful to see his smug smile had returned. He tossed the cloth into the dirty clothes hamper, then tugged the bedspread and covers from beneath their bodies so they could climb beneath the sheets. He embraced her and kissed her temple, reveling in the warm heaviness of his satiation.

"I'm surprised you're not asking for a cigarette about now," he teased. "I almost feel like having one myself, after that."

He felt her smile against her cheek. "Hadn't you noticed? I haven't smoked in a week."

"Dammit!"

"That makes you mad?"

"Well, I've been experimenting a little…with hypnotism. Hypnotizing you to stop smoking was going to be my first big attempt. And now you went and quit on your own."

She laughed. "Sorry to disappoint you. I can start again if you want me to."

"No," he said sharply. "Please, don't ever do it again." He hesitated a moment, then told her what he hadn't told anyone in ten years. "Lung cancer killed my mother."

"What?" she gasped.

"Yeah, when I was ten." He swallowed down his sudden emotion. "So, when my dad lied about having it, he had known just the thing to say to manipulate me. And damned if it didn't work." He let out a humorless laugh.

"That bastard," she said, her anger on Patrick's behalf renewed.

"I can actually think of one or two better words for him, but that'll do."

She hugged him more tightly. "I'm sorry…about your mother, I mean."

"Yeah, me too. She would have liked you. She probably hated the carnival about as much as you do."

She snuggled into his side, her fingers laced with his.

"I have found in recent days, that I don't quite hate the carnival as much as I thought."

"Oh, really?" he said with a grin. "And why is that, do you think?"

"I've discovered there are many more new and interesting people around since the last time I lived the carnie life."

"_Many_?"

"Well…_one_ in particular, if you must know, Mr. Ego."

"Good."

She sniffed at his possessive tone, but let him have his satisfaction. They lay there together, and she felt him begin to settle into the beginnings of sleep, when suddenly a thought occurred to her.

"Hey," she began, and he jerked awake. "Earlier, when you-when you were telling me to undress. Were you trying to hypnotize me?"

"Huh?" he said, feigning disorientation.

"Patrick, you heard me."

He opened one eye and looked at her. "No," he said innocently. _Too _innocently. "Why? Did it feel like I was?"

She began pummeling him about the chest and arms. "That was way over the line, Wonder Boy! How dare you? I've been…violated!"

He half-laughed, half-cried out at this sudden ill treatment. "Hey, I didn't do it, I swear! Stop it!"

He grabbed her arms and pinned her beneath him, unashamed to use his brute strength to avoid a beating. She was breathing heavily again, and their sudden burst of adrenalin had made his body react to her in all sorts of delicious ways.

"Swear on a stack of Bibles you didn't try to hypnotize me, or so help me—"

"I swear," he said honestly, but the sparkle in his eye made her wonder. She looked at him closely.

"Okay. But you better never try to hypnotize me, Wonder Boy, or you'll be out on your ass."

"Yes, ma'am," he promised. But…the way you were acting, though, Angel, there was no hypnosis necessary. You pounced on me like a dog on a juicy steak. I couldn't have fought you off if I tried."

She struggled again beneath him, trying not to smile. "That's probably the biggest load of bullshit ever to come out of your mouth."

He chuckled, then moaned as she continued to wriggle enticingly. "I beg to differ, Angel. You haven't known me for very long."

"And yet, I think I know you very well."

"Yes," he whispered truthfully against her mouth. "Better than anyone."

They didn't talk again for some time.

**A/N: If you liked this chapter, please log in and let us know! Starry will have the next chapter for you soon.**


	8. Chapter 8

**AN:** Whew! This one took me a while to get out, but here it is at last!

Again, thanks to everyone for their continued support. Donna and I adore each of you!

**Chapter Eight**

It certainly wasn't the first time he had spent the night with a woman, but it wound up being one of most significant. He wasn't entirely sure what to expect out of Angela the morning after, lingering embarrassment, maybe, but when he woke up with the soft rays of the early sun touching them both, he knew it would be difficult to find something more perfect.

Angela was curled up with her head on his chest, skin turned a rosy gold. Tenderly, he pulled the sheet up higher around her bare shoulder, smiling softly when she tried to burrow even closer to his side.

He was visited by the strange notion that this was something he could have every day for the rest of his life. A sleepy, well-loved Angela.

His heart contracted with unexpected want.

Of course, it was pretty unlikely that they would be able to repeat this scenario anytime soon, considering his current residence was the couch in this trailer. Besides, Teddy might've had an inkling about what was going to happen, leaving them alone, but Patrick doubted the man was going to make a regular habit out of it.

So he committed every detail he could to his (admittedly impressive) memory, wanting to be able to come back to this whenever he wanted.

Eventually, Angela started to stir, body stretching against his in a way that made his heart beat a little faster. He figured he needed to take it easy on her; she was bound to be more than a little sore, especially after their second time the night before.

"Morning, Wonder Boy," she whispered softly, smiling at him.

"Good morning, Angel," he replied, leaning down for a gentle kiss.

Her fingers tapped against his chest. "Any chance we can just stay in this bed all day?"

He buried his nose in her hair for a moment. "I think it might look a little suspicious if we don't show up at the next stop, and I have no desire to have your father beat the shit out of me." There was a pause. "Especially since he told me I was staying here as long as I needed to."

She sat part of the way up, remembering to hold the sheet modestly against herself. "He didn't tell me that. I mean, that's great," she quickly tacked on, "just a little surprising is all. You know, inviting the boyfriend to become a live-in."

"Just so you know, Angel, I'm pretty sure I have to sleep on the couch," he teased. "And your bed definitely isn't big enough anyway."

She wrinkled her nose at him. "Let's just hope I get good at sneaking in and out of my room."

He laughed again, then reluctantly rolled out of bed, figuring at the very least, he owed it to Teddy to be on time arriving for the next set up.

Angela made breakfast as he got the trailer ready to go, and there was a funny sense of unreality as he came back inside to find her sliding eggs onto his plate, orange juice already poured. It was like they were playing house.

Again, he felt the unexpected tug of wanting. It was far too easy to pretend that this was real life, _their_ life, and not just some stolen moment in time.

But she kissed him as he took his seat, and he found he didn't really give a damn about the logistics.

The next few weeks passed in the most pleasant haze he could ever remember. Yes, the situation with his father still stung, popping up at random moments to haunt him. But there were so many other things that were going well.

_The Amazing Patrick_, his new gig, was drawing full houses nearly every night, with more private readings than he could shake a stick at afterwards. It seemed now that Alex wasn't breathing down his neck, he was able to really relax and use his full talents. He had been reading people his entire life, Patrick had, and pretending to be a medium really highlighted those skills.

The rest of the members of their travelling troupe had all rallied around him as well. He wasn't sure how, but word had gotten out about Alex's scheme, and he had nothing but sympathizers. It was nice to see friendly faces everywhere he went. He hadn't realized until now how much Alex had been holding him back in certain areas.

And then there was Angela, and everything having to do with her.

She made a point of coming to at least one of his shows every night, and he couldn't help but grin when he saw her sitting in her usual place, looking, well, _proud_.

Although he knew she still didn't agree with what he was doing, she had come to terms with it as much as she could. He would be very interested to know what rationale she was using, but she wasn't inclined to share.

Besides, he figured it didn't truly matter as long as she was willing to stick by him. And it seemed like she was.

They usually snuck off after the last private reading, looking for a secluded spot to make love, more often than not. Angela might have been a mere novice when it came to sex, but he was a good teacher and she was a very eager student.

Sometimes, though, all they did was talk. Trailers, while wonderful in regards to proximity issues, were terrible for the same reasons. There was just always someone else around, and no place to not be overheard.

It seemed like there was no topic they didn't address – her plans for college, what he wanted to do with his show, favorite movies, ice cream flavors, childhood memories. He opened up to her more than he had to anyone else in his life, and it was terrifying and wonderful all at once. She had so much she could hurt him with, but he knew that she never would.

Hell, if he had known being in love would be like this, he would have done it years ago. Of course, that wouldn't have worked, since it was Angela who made this whole thing work.

Teddy Ruskin was also taking a deeper interest in him, and it was humbling. The older man clearly saw that there was something profound between the pretend psychic and his daughter, and instead of putting his guard up, he did the opposite.

Gradually, Patrick found himself consulted on business decisions, or scouting out potential new acts. He had an eye for talent, something Teddy picked up on quickly, and didn't hesitate to use to his advantage.

Angela didn't seem exactly thrilled about what was happening, and though she never brought it up, he could see the worry in her eyes, nervously flicking between him and her father.

She turned nineteen the second week of August, and he made a point of taking her to the best restaurant he could find. It was an hour's drive from the carnival, and he'd taken the night off from performing, but Teddy had given the request his blessing, apparently approving of Patrick's plan to put his daughter first.

Angela looked unbelievably lovely in her sundress. It was a soft pink – modest enough that she could have worn it to church, but no man with eyes in his head was going to be able to keep them off of her.

Several times throughout their meal, he had to resist the primal urge to toss her onto the table and have his way. Especially since her sandal-clad toes kept sneaking up his pant leg.

He left the Toyota in the parking lot of the restaurant, lacing their fingers together as they wandered through the downtown area of the city. He had never been to this particular place, but it was small enough still that it had a certain charm.

Angela absently window shopped as they strolled, making comments occasionally about fashion and trends. He learned that she was an avid reader of _Glamour_, and that he wasn't supposed to wear horizontal stripes because they would make him look chubby.

Thankfully, it was difficult to go wrong with suits. He had purchased two more since his show had really taken off, spending the day with Angela in a local JC Penney's. Honestly, the look worked for him. Every time he put one on, he felt like it all became a little more real.

He still wasn't a fan of ties, but Angela said it pulled the whole ensemble together, and he was willing to do just about anything if it made her happy.

She paused in front of the display window at a small jewelry store, looking at the sparkling gems eagerly. He noticed her eyes passed over the glittering wedding ring section more than once, lingering on a few pieces.

However, the pendant in his jacket pocket was the only diamond he was emotionally prepared to give her at the moment. He had a feeling that that was all going to change soon, though.

He could admit to himself that he wanted a life with her. The next step was enormous; after all, she was still a teenager, and he wouldn't turn twenty-one until October. They had all the time in the world.

Still, a voice in the back of his mind reminded him that she fully intended to go to college in the fall, at the end of the damn month, actually, to leave this life behind her.

It was a conversation they needed to have, but he had avoided it, not knowing the end result. He was happier living in ignorant bliss, pretending that this would never end.

Eventually, they made their way to a small park, and he bought them ice-cream from a stand near the entrance. Apparently, the town was having some sort of celebration commemorating its existence, and there was a band set up on a small dais, currently belting out covers of popular country songs.

He found them a secluded spot next to an oak tree – it was close enough that they could still hear the music, but far enough away that there was no one around them.

After a while, he put his head in her lap, staring absently up at the stars while she played with his hair. Just when he was considering giving her a birthday treat much sweeter than the ice cream she'd just had, she gave a wistful sigh and he sat up, concerned.

She shrugged helplessly. "I can't help but be a little jealous of these people," she said, gesturing in the direction they had come from.

"What the hell for?" he asked, though he realized he knew as soon as the words left his mouth.

"They're all here, celebrating this place they've made a home in." She chewed on the inside of her lip, and he lightly brushed his thumb across her cheek.

Angela wanted permanence in her life, wanted the idea that the place she woke up in the morning was going to be in the same place she went to sleep in. She wanted a home address, wanted to plant flowers and mow the yard. Wanted a place where she could be with her family _all_ the time.

"Home is where your heart is," he said softly, aware that it sounded trite. However, it was certainly true for him. And Angela was where his heart was.

He tugged the small velvet-covered box out of his pocket and rested it in her hands.

She looked up at him with surprised eyes. He winked.

"Happy birthday, Angel."

Eagerly, she flipped the box open, then her lips parted in a silent gasp. There, threaded through a silver chain, a diamond heart pendent rested on black satin, winking up in the moonlight.

"I love it," she whispered. "I really, _really_ love it."

Her enthusiasm made him chuckle, as did her impatience while she waited for him to fasten it around her neck.

When it rested safely against her skin, he lightly touched the sparkling gems. "I love you," he told her, the words sounding stupid in his ears. It was the first time he had ever said it out loud.

Her answering smile took his breath away. "I love you more," she said, then threw her arms around his neck, almost toppling off balance as she kissed him.

He realized it was _her_ birthday, but he took a fraction of a second to make a wish.

_Please let this never end_.

XxXxXxXxX

She had no idea what to do.

On one hand, there was college, the thing she had been looking forward to for years. A chance to really leave this life of deception and lies behind her. She was thinking about interior design – decorating the places people called home. It was massively appealing to her.

On the other hand, there was Patrick Jane, whom she was completely and utterly in love with.

And who loved her back.

She grinned stupidly, just like she did every time she remembered how he had confessed in the park a week ago. He had looked almost awkward, unsure of herself, and she had realized that he had never told anyone else those words. She was the first. She hoped she would be the last.

_Those_ sorts of thoughts were the ones getting her into worlds of trouble. The time had come and gone for her to make a reasonable decision. If she chose college now, it would be a mad rush to try and get into the classes she wanted.

Then again, if she didn't go, what the hell was she going to do?

Fall meant the end of the travelling circuit. Most people would go back to Carson Springs or places just like it and wait for spring to roll around again. Was she just going to go back to Santa Barbara and loaf in her bedroom?

And where would Patrick be?

Her father had brought up the idea of taking Patrick's show on the road separately. He really did draw in massive crowds, largely thanks to his charisma and fantastic skill. Additionally, he was starting to play around with hypnotism. She had never let him practice on her, but from what she'd seen, he was going to be terrifyingly good at it in a short amount of time. That would bring in even more people.

She supposed she could go with them, but she didn't particularly want to. As much as she loved Patrick (and her father) she'd had about enough of living in cramped trailers for a good long while.

To be perfectly honest, she didn't really want Patrick to go _because_ of her father. Teddy had slowly been giving him more and more responsibility when it came to the business side of running a carnival, and it made her very nervous.

Although she was happy Teddy trusted Patrick, thought he was capable of doing what was needed, she didn't want him to be groomed to take over the whole operation.

She wanted to be with Patrick, and she _didn't_ want to be with him in a trailer. At least not one that never stayed in one spot more than three nights.

Frustrated, she rolled onto her stomach and buried her face in her pillow. She was the only one around, everyone else having gone off to get ready for the night.

It was time to make some serious decisions, ones that would alter her life one way or another.

Absently, she played with the pendant around her neck. _Home is where the heart is_, he'd whispered to her. And then he'd literally given her his heart. Heart-shaped necklace, that was, but still.

Well, then, that should be her answer. He certainly had her heart – wherever he was should be enough.

It _should_ be, but she wasn't sure it was.

Could she make a life with him here? Well, yes, she could. But would she be truly happy? No. This was not the sort of place she wanted to have a family.

She had entertained fantasies of playing with her golden-haired children on acres of land, or on the beach behind the (permanent, unmovable) house they would live in. The house in which she would teach them to be honest with those around them, to not be deceitful, to not see everyone outside of a certain circle as a mark to be taken advantage of.

No. She couldn't be happy here.

Perhaps it wasn't her choice to make then.

The idea hit her so suddenly that it was almost ridiculous.

Who said she was the one who had to choose? Who said that?

Patrick was just as capable of giving up this life as she was.

In a moment of doubt, she wondered if he would. If they broke up, she honestly thought Teddy would still continue to favor him, to let him in. Someday, he could be managing an entire troupe. There was money there, and power, two things she knew appealed to Patrick.

How the hell was she even going to bring this conversation up?

Her heart started to break when she thought about the way it could go. This could end with her walking away from the only man she had ever loved. Because, in the end, she had to do what was best for her.

And this wasn't it.

Like always, she went to Patrick's show. Normally, she picked the late one, since there would be less time to waste before she could see him again.

She had spent so long brooding in her room that there was almost no place to sit. It seemed like everyone in the dinky town they were visiting was here. Eventually, she managed to squeeze into a chair in the very back row just as the lights were going down.

Patrick gave a wonderful performance, like always, moving several members of the audience to tears. It amazed her still, how desperately afraid of death everyone was, like that was the end of a soul. Any number of people were willing to pay obscene amounts of money to hear a supposed medium tell them their spouse or parent or friend loved them.

The way she saw it, that was just stupid. If they loved you in life, they were still going to love you the same when they were gone.

Though she still found it a little distasteful, she much preferred the side of Patrick's show where he told fortunes. He'd told her once that no one liked a gloomy psychic, so his predictions were always upbeat and inspiring. He could have said the same things and put them in a self-help book, but people took his words seriously just because they thought he saw the future.

Poor, gullible bastards, really.

She had a strange moment when she realized their money had paid for the diamonds she wore so proudly around her neck.

When Patrick took his final bow, she stood with the rest of the crowd to applaud. As the noise quieted down, she heard a bit of the conversation the men next to her were having.

"I'm serious, Mark, if this Patrick kid got out from under this carnival thing, he could be a millionaire," a heavy-set man was saying to his friend.

"Oh, I agree," Mark said. "There's some real talent here. He could be, like, a celebrity psychic. Go on TV. Perform in freaking arenas, man. It'd be stupid for him to stay here. He's better than this place."

Though the slight against the carnival instinctively made her irritated, regardless of the fact that she had been thinking many of the same things just hours before, what the men said stuck with her. Images started to play across her mind before she could stop them. What if…what if…what if he would only do a few shows a month instead of being on the road every night? What if people came to _him_ for readings, at an office that he came home from every night?

It was nearly one in the morning when she finally saw Patrick emerge from the back of the tent, shaking hands with someone who looked like they had been violently sobbing minutes ago. She watched the middle-aged woman go with her brows furrowed, waiting for Patrick to stop at her side.

"Hi, sweetheart," he said jauntily, leaning down and kissing her soundly. "Sorry about the lateness, but The Amazing Patrick was in high demand this evening."

He sounded so proud of himself that she couldn't help but smile. "I noticed that. One of your better shows, I think."

"Really?" he asked, sounding pleased. "Well, you should know. You've seen almost all of them." He loosened his tie as they were speaking, then reached for her hand. "Let's get out of here, Angel. I think the tent needs to air out for a while."

He wasn't kidding. It smelled like sweat and stale bodies beneath the canvas.

She was unusually quiet as they walked, and it wasn't long before he asked what was on her mind. Although she had been thinking about this for most of the night, now that the time had come, none of her carefully prepared speeches would get past her lips.

"This isn't what I want my life to be," she finally choked out in a rush. "This carnival life. I hate it, Patrick."

He stopped walking abruptly, looking shocked at her outburst. "Ang," he began, but she cut him off.

"I'm not staying here," she said, willing herself to see this through. "I think I'm too late for state universities, but I think I can still get registered at a community college somewhere."

In the darkness, she could see his mouth fall open. "You're leaving?" he asked quietly.

"I have to," she whispered. "I have to get out."

His fingers were limp in hers. "But," he said, then shook his head. She had never seen him at such a loss for words. "What about me?"

There was absolute heartbreak in his tone, and she hated herself for it. She was probably the only person besides his mother who truly loved him, and whom he truly loved in return. And now it looked like she was going to walk out and abandon him.

_Home is where your heart is_.

Could she take away his home? She, who was so desperate to find one of her own?

"Come with me," she said, hands going to his shoulders. "We'll just leave. Tonight. I don't care. But come with me, Patrick," she begged. "There's more for you out there than this."

Quickly, she recounted the conversation she had overheard. "See?" she finished. "Don't you see? You don't need to be here, either."

He still looked askance, bewildered. "Angela, after everything your father has done for me…you're asking me to just walk away from him? The man basically saved my life."

She felt a jolt of anger, and it compelled her to make her point emphatically. "It's me or this life, Patrick."

His eyes were unreadable in the dimness, and she wondered if she had lost. "I love you," she said, tone gentler, "but I couldn't ever be happy here."

He was still silent, so she continued. "I want to be happy with _you_," she whispered, "so just please come with me. I've made my choice, Patrick. Now you need to do the same." Her voice cracked, and she fought for composure. "I'm going back to the trailer."

She turned on her heel, determinedly marching through the nearly-deserted grounds. After a few seconds, Patrick followed, though he still said nothing.

Then, at the door, he seemed to come to a conclusion. Hands on her shoulders, her turned her so they were facing each other.

When she looked up, his face was so unexpectedly close that she gasped.

"Marry me," he said, "and I'll give you whatever you want."

"What?" she asked, convinced she'd heard wrong.

"I love you, Angela," he said solemnly. "You're where I want to be. But if I walk away from this, I need to know you're in this as much as I am. So prove it. Marry me."

There was a beat of shocked silence.

Then she fought back a rush of emotion, knowing that she had won.

"Wonder Boy, you're going to have to propose better than that."

She kissed him abruptly, then pulled the door open, purposely swaying her hips as she climbed the stairs.

Marry him indeed.

She was just glad he couldn't see how wide her smile was.

**A/N: Thanks for reading! We would appreciate your review.**

**Donna will get to the review replies for ch. 7 very soon. **


	9. Chapter 9

A/N: Thanks for all the great reviews! Starry19 and I continue to appreciate every one of them. This chapter covers a lot of territory, and I admit that I went a little mushy and romantic in places. I hope you don't mind, but I've come to love Angela so much, I wanted for her what every girl would want from Patrick Jane. Please enjoy.

**Chapter 9**

He supposed she was right. That hadn't been the best of proposals, blurting it out without much thought to the consequences. But even hours later, lying alone on the Ruskins's couch, he still felt the rightness of his desire to marry her coursing through him. Still, Angela deserved better than his first, half-assed attempt.

First thing, he needed to go the traditional route and ask Teddy for permission to wed his daughter, because he knew as a father, Teddy would appreciate the gesture. Not that it would matter. Angela was an adult; she could marry whomever she wanted, but it wouldn't hurt to pave the way smoothly into the family. Teddy was definitely grooming him to manage the business, and while things were up in the air as far as his and Angela's future plans, he didn't want to burn any bridges.

Patrick approached his would-be father-in-law the next day, when Angela had borrowed his car and run into the nearest town for groceries and other supplies. Teddy was sitting at the dining room table, reading glasses perched on his nose, account books and a calculator spread before him. He sipped his mug of coffee and didn't even look up at Patrick's approach.

"Hey, son," said Teddy, and it never failed to give Patrick a warm feeling when he called him that. This man treated him with more respect and love than his own father ever had.

"Teddy."

"Have a seat. You know, I was looking at how much our over-all take with the rides and games has increased since you changed your show. People are coming to the carnival to see _you_ first, the rides and other side shows second."

Patrick was more pleased than he could say. "It's probably just a coincidence," he said with a token attempt at humility.

Teddy did look up then, his reading glasses sliding down his nose. He gave Patrick a look of amused skepticism. "Listen to that modesty. You know damn well that in the last three towns I've had people out asking survey questions. Nothing wrong with some good old-fashioned marketing research. At any rate, they confirm what I just said—you're becoming famous, Patrick. You should be proud."

He was, but never so much as when this man pointed it out. "Well, my tent has become more crowded lately. I've had to add two more shows and another time for private sessions."

"And the money is pouring in like a summer gully washer, I imagine. Good for you, Patrick."

He was so busy basking in the glow of Teddy Ruskin's approval and his own pride at his success, that for a moment he'd forgotten his promise to Angela. She wanted out of here, to be in a stable home, and the only respectable way to do that was to marry her and take her with him. It was a strange concept to him, wanting to do something selfless, something respectable. Angela had definitely left her mark on him in so many ways.

"Thank you, sir," he said finally, some of his enthusiasm draining from his voice. Despite wanting to please Angela, it still disturbed him that he'd have to disappoint Teddy soon by leaving.

Teddy's eyes narrowed.

"What is it, son?"

Teddy set down his pencil, removed his glasses, and gave Patrick his full attention.

"There's something I'd like to ask you, sir. And I know it might come as a bit of a shock, and maybe you think it's too soon—"

"Spit it out, Patrick," he said in amusement. He'd never known Patrick to ramble on so nervously. For one so young, he was an expert at putting on an air of complete confidence and control. That was one of the things that made the kid so successful, he supposed.

"Okay." Patrick took a deep breath. "I'd like your permission to marry Angela."

Teddy smiled. "You would, huh?"

"Yeah. I mean, if we have your blessing."

Teddy sat back against the bench seat. "You think you're good enough for her?"

"No. But I love her, and I think I can take care of her, make her happy."

"She has some fancy ideas about going to college, staying in one place. She hates the carnival life. Have you talked about this?"

"Yes," he said. And then he panicked. What the hell was he giving up here? He could provide for Angela on the income he was getting now. During the off-season, he could do private readings, other venues. But suddenly, he couldn't tell Teddy categorically that he wanted to break things off with the carnival gig, turn his back on all that Teddy had done for him.

"We'll work something out," he continued vaguely. "The point is, Angela and I love each other and want to be together. I want to marry her, I want to-"

"Okay."

"What? Okay? Just like that?"

Teddy chuckled. "Yes, just like that. I've seen how you handle things, Patrick. You're a real go-getter. You see what you want, and you go after it. You're smart, you have common sense, and you can provide for Angela. I'd be proud to be your father-in-law, if that's what Angela wants."

"I think she does." Patrick grinned a little. "She just needs to be asked in the right way."

"Oh, I'll bet. You'd better get everything perfect, son, or she'll keep you hanging forever."

"Yes, sir."

Both men stood, and Patrick found himself enclosed in the large man's embrace. Teddy slapped his back happily.

_Well, that was easy,_ thought Patrick dryly. He pushed aside his trepidation about the business and enjoyed the glow of Teddy's approval.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Step two was to get a ring. The next day he went back the jewelry store where Angela had shown an interest in the wedding rings on display. He had followed her gaze, noting the ones that made her eyes light up, and he was fairly certain of the one she liked most. He would have to put it on his credit card, but he hoped he'd be able to pay it off within a few months, if his show kept drawing in the crowds. He decided again not to think about that, and, with great joy, he had the clerk bring out the one he'd decided to buy.

The next step was the actual proposal. He'd avoided Angela all day, and he imagined she was fairly annoyed with him by now. Danny helped him prepare for the evening's shows, and Patrick supposed it wouldn't hurt to run his plans by Danny. He'd never had a sibling, and the idea of a younger brother who looked up to him was oddly heartwarming. And Danny loved his sister. He was just as protective of her as had he been her older brother, so his approval seemed necessary to Angela's happiness too.

While they were dressing in their suits backstage, Patrick cautiously broached the subject.

"I need your help with something sort of…special tonight, Danny."

"Oh? What? You want me to sit in the audience this time? Should I take off my suit?"

"No, nothing like that, although you need to be really cool and go with whatever happens. I guess I should fill you in."

Patrick finished tying his tie, then turned to straighten Danny's. "What would you think if I married your sister?" he asked casually before meeting the younger boy's eyes.

"Really? You'd be part of the family? You'd be like my brother?"

"Yeah," said Patrick. "That's typically the way it works."

"Well, hell yeah!"

And for the second time that day, Patrick was heartily hugged by a Ruskin.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Angela had the distinct impression that Patrick was avoiding her. He was gone before the sun fully rose the next morning and she hadn't seen hide nor hair of him all day. Perhaps after she'd shut down his marriage proposal the night before he'd changed his mind about the whole thing, and was running scared. But that didn't seem like the Patrick she'd come to know. Likely, he was licking his wounds and regrouping, planning some outrageous way to make it up to her. She shivered. He wanted to marry her, and damned if she wanted to say yes.

When she'd returned from the grocery store, her father had been in a wonderful mood, but wouldn't explain why. Maybe it was because there had been a huge boost in sales this summer, but she had the feeling it was something else entirely. Something was definitely up, and her blood raced in anticipation as she prepared to attend Patrick's show that evening.

She got there early and sat on the front row—the better to show she would not be ignored. Danny was entertaining the pre-show crowd with magic tricks and funny jokes that Patrick must have taught him. Angela had a brief pang of guilt, realizing that were she and Patrick to marry, she would be taking away her brother's new mentor. When he saw her arrive, he smiled broadly at his sister.

_Yeah, something was up, for sure_.

Soon, Danny introduced Patrick, and Angela settled in for the usual entertainment. All went that way until the last five minutes of the show, when _The Amazing Patrick_ directed his attentions on her.

"Ladies and Gentleman," he began, his voice low and purposefully enthralling. "I have received a message from the spirits…and they are calling out for someone in this room…by name."

_Well, this is new… and very bold._

Usually he just called out the first letter of someone's name to get the psychic ball rolling. Patrick closed his eyes, putting the elegant fingers of one hand to his forehead, the other hand stretched out dramatically, as if attempting to touch the Other Side.

"Is there by chance a young woman here named…_Angela_?"

She sat up straighter and looked around. _Huh?_

When no one else replied, Patrick tried again. "Come now, don't be shy. You can't hide from the spirits…"

Well, she supposed she could go along with this new twist in the show. She raised her hand.

"_My_ name is Angela."

Patrick lowered his hands and stepped gracefully off the stage to stand before her.

"Well, hello, Angela," he said, as if meeting her for the first time.

"Hello," she said with equal formality, trying hard not to ruin his act with a wry grin.

To her additional surprise, he took both her hands in his.

"Angela, I know this may seem a bit disturbing, but the spirits compel me to ask you a very important question."

"Oh?" Her heart leapt into her throat.

He dropped to one knee before her, and reached into his suit coat pocket. He opened the black velvet jeweler's box to reveal the exact ring she'd coveted in the jewelry store on her birthday. The crowd gasped as they caught on to the ruse, and then collectively seemed to hold its breath.

"Angela Ruskin, will you do me the great honor of becoming my wife?"

She looked down into his green eyes which were sparkling with delight that he had taken her by surprise, and she could only shake her head a little at his confidence. She crossed her arms in front of her and feigned a look of annoyance.

"Gee, if you were really a psychic, Wonder Boy, you'd already know my answer now, wouldn't you?" she said, and their audience laughed. But Patrick Jane had learned how to improvise long ago.

"Angel, if I could predict what a woman wanted from one moment to the next, I wouldn't be working in a carnival sideshow right now."

More laughter, especially from the men.

"Come on, lady," said a man from the audience. "Give the poor guy a break."

A woman from somewhere in the back put in her two cents as well. "Honey, if you don't tell him yes, I'd be willing to take him off your hands!"

"Come on, Angel," said Patrick softly. "What's it gonna be?"

He read her answer in her smiling eyes before she could even say the word.

"Yes," she whispered, and he rose to take her into his arms amongst deafening applause.

Xxxxxxxxxxx

The news spread quickly among the carnie folk, that the psychic had landed the boss's daughter. Some were still skeptical of the relationship, but anyone who knew Patrick Jane, knew a changed man when they saw one. Out from under his wicked father's thumb and obviously head-over-heels in love, he had become much more than a talented kid with an eye for the ladies.

After the couple had formally announced the news to Teddy, they had driven from the carnival to celebrate on their own, parking in the darkness near a river, windows down, Billy Joel crooning low on the radio. Angela's fear of snakes had them moving to the back seat instead of outside in the tall grass, where they creatively utilized the small space. Afterwards, their breathing still heavy, they sat up and Patrick pulled her to his side, kissing the top of her head lovingly.

"I want to be married in Santa Barbara," said Angela, when she could speak. "We couldn't do this without my mom, and Granny could come up from San Diego."

"Sure, sweetheart, whatever you want."

His only family was with the carnival now; in his mind, he no longer claimed his father.

"There's a beautiful mission near the ocean, where you don't even have to be Catholic to wed there."

She could feel the rumble of Patrick's laughter beneath her cheek. "That's a good thing. God knows whenever I do enter a church, it'll be in danger of crumbling to the ground; I wouldn't want to offend the Pope too."

She laughed too, but then continued musing about what their life would be.

"We could find some small place to rent down the coast. I was thinking somewhere around Malibu. I love it there! And there's a great community college in Santa Monica where I can start taking my general ed classes. You could rent a space, maybe near the pier or the touristy areas—"

"Whoa," said Patrick, becoming breathless for an entirely different reason. "You have this all planned out, don't you?"

"Well, yes. Isn't that what we talked about before?"

"Yes, of course. But the thing is, Angel, all this stuff takes money."

"My father—"

"Will cut us off without a cent once he hears I'm quitting the carnival."

"What? I thought you talked to him earlier. When you asked him for my hand, you didn't tell him our plans?"

"No," said Patrick glumly. "I couldn't."

"Patrick—"  
"I'm sorry, Angela, but he was so excited about how I've supposedly brought in new business, and he's obviously grooming me to take over this particular company. I knew if I told him our plans now, there was no way I'd be getting his blessing."

She was quiet for a few agonizing minutes, and he was scared to his toes she was going to call the whole thing off.

"Okay," she said on a sigh. "We wait until after the wedding to tell him. But then we have to, okay? I called that college in Santa Monica when I was in town today. The first classes start in the middle of September. That gives us only a month to get married and find a place to settle, at least temporarily. I have some money saved that's all my own, from summer jobs and babysitting, that should be enough to allow me to take one or two classes the first semester, so don't worry about that yet." She hesitated now, a little embarrassed to ask what she knew she should. "I uh, hate to be nosy, but how much money do you have, Patrick?"

"About five thousand," he said. "I paid off the tent your dad bought for me, and I have a couple other payments I need to make. One more month working with the carnival, and I could maybe double that amount."

"Ten thousand. Well, that would be a good little nest egg. It would more than pay for rent, set us up until you start bringing in more income. I could find some part- time job too. We'll be fine, Patrick. I have faith in you. In us."

He was touched by her confidence in him, in her amazing optimism, but he'd had periods of his life between his father's gigs where they'd only lived in a tent, and ate all their meals around a campfire. She didn't fully understand what poverty meant, and part of him wanted to beg that they stay with her father's business so that he could spare her that experience.

"It's not going to be easy, Angel. It will likely be a long while until we're living more than hand to mouth. You're not used to that, and I don't want you to come to regret this."

"Hey," she said, turning his face to hers, "Money isn't as important to me as being with you, free from our fathers' control. Don't you agree?"

He gently kissed her. "Of course. But you'll be surprised how important money becomes when you don't have any."

She smiled, then looked guiltily down at her engagement ring, which sparkled in the moonlight streaming through the back windshield.

"You didn't really have the money to buy this, did you?"

"Not another word about that, Angel," he said firmly. "I only wish I could have bought you a bigger stone." He picked up her left hand and kissed the finger that wore the half-karat solitaire. Too bad his father had pawned his mother, Charlotte's ring five years before—it had been a full karat. The asshole. He shook his head, trying not to let his father intrude on his happiness again.

"No, this is perfect," she said, sounding sharply possessive, admiring her glittering diamond anew. He smiled.

"Someday," he told her, "I'll drape you from head to toe in jewels. They'll be so heavy you won't be able to walk." She laughed at the mental picture.

"Oh, please don't. I'd rather we spent that money on a big house on the beach, and…on our children."

"Children, eh?" said Patrick, wrapping his arms around her once more. "How many?"

He'd been around children all his life in the carnival, had grown to love hearing their laughter, seeing their smiles of amazement when he performed a magic trick for them. Now that he'd found a woman like Angela, he no longer feared so much that he would screw them up.

"Four—no, five! All of them with golden blonde curls and sea-green eyes."

"Can we have a brown-eyed little girl or two?" he asked tenderly.

"Maybe," she said, climbing onto his lap to face him on the narrow seat, ducking her head forward so it didn't hit the low ceiling. "As long as we can keep the curls."

"Deal," he said, capturing her smiling lips. "I'll get right to work on that."

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

_Three weeks later…_

It was an hour before her wedding, and Angela waited nervously before a mirror while her mother put the finishing touches on her hair. They were in a small room in the back of the church, and Angela toyed with her engagement ring, spinning it round and round her cold finger.

"Stop fidgeting, Angela," said Madeline Ruskin. "I've tried three times to get this strand of hair into the bun. Cold feet?" she teased.

"Of course not. Have you _met_ Patrick?" she said with a smile.

"Aw, you were certainly right about him, sweetheart. Robert Redford has nothing on him, and you know how much I love Robert Redford. Why, if I were twenty years younger, I'd give you a run for your money."

"Mom!" Angela supposed she should be scandalized by her mother's remarks, but she'd come to realize just how much she and Patrick reminded her of one another. Both too charming and beautiful for their own good, they'd been instant mutual fans, sharing jokes that were often at her expense. Angela was so relieved that they got along that their gentle jabs didn't bother her one bit.

Madeline was just attaching the veil to her daughter's hair, when the phone on a nearby table began to ring.

"Should we answer it?" Angela asked.

"It might be your father," said her mother, walking over to the old-fashioned black telephone, "he's probably running late as usual. In all the years we've been married, he's never been on time to church..."

But no, it was Danny.

"Mom, can I talk to Angela please?"  
"_May_ I—" she corrected him. "And what for? She's in the middle of getting ready, which is what I expect you should be doing, young man."

"_May_ I, Mom, and this is sort of important."

"Well, make it quick, and you have thirty minutes to get to this church or I'll turn you over my knee. You'd better not ruin this for your sister and Patrick. You're the best man, remember."

"Yes, ma'am," he said, but she knew her son. Something was amiss, but her two children had often found themselves embroiled in some scheme or other. She reluctantly held the phone out to Angela.

"Danny wants to talk to you."

Angela looked askance, but her mother just shrugged. "I'll go check to see that the caterers are here," she said, and left through a side door.

"Hey," said Angela into the phone, "where the hell are you?"

"Look, sis, I only have about two minutes. I'm in jail—"

"What?" she gasped. "What the hell for?"

"I'll explain later. You gotta get down here and get me out or I'm gonna totally miss your wedding. And don't tell Mom and Dad. Dad'll kill me."

"Dad? _I'm_ gonna kill you! Holy shit, Danny! I can't believe you're doing this to me, of all days!"

"Calm down, will ya? Just get down to the Santa Barbara police station and get me out of here."

"Dear God, Danny, you're a damn menace." She hung up on him.

What to do? What to do? She had no money with her for bail. But then, he was a minor. _What the hell could he be in there for? _She also didn't have her own car here because her parents had brought her.

"Dammit," she said aloud, then remembered she was in church, looked heavenward for forgiveness and strength, and went to the door. There was only one person who could help her with this. She peeped out into the hall, and, seeing it empty, snuck down two doors to where Patrick was supposed to be dressing as well.

She tapped quietly on the door. "Come in," he called.

She opened the door and slipped quickly inside. There, at his own mirror, Patrick was expertly tying the white bowtie that went with his silver morning coat. He looked breathtaking, and she cursed Danny again that Patrick's appearance at the end of the aisle wouldn't be a beautiful surprise now.

He caught sight of her in the mirror. "Angela? What's going on? You know it's bad luck for the bride—"

"Danny's in trouble."

"What?" He dropped his hands and turned to her.

"He's in jail, and called for me to go pick him up. Trouble is, I have no car and no money on me. Can you drive me down there?"

"It's forty-five minutes until the wedding, Angel."

"I know that! But he's your best man, and I can't get married without that asshole brother of mine here. God, I could murder him!"

"Not gonna tell Daddy either, are you?" he said, amusement lighting his eyes.

"This isn't funny."

He laughed. "Sorry, but it really is. What did he do?"

"I have no idea, but we'd better get down there quickly."

Patrick rubbed his hands together in anticipation. "Won't this make a great story to tell our kids one day?"

She rolled her eyes. "Get your keys and let's go, Wonder Boy, before I change my mind about the whole damn thing."

Patrick smiled. "Oh, no you don't. You're already in the gown and everything. No turning back now."

She grabbed his arm and pulled him to the door. They managed to sneak out the back door of the church unseen and climbed into the Toyota , Angela cussing a blue streak when her dress got caught in the car door. Patrick continued to grin, but wisely didn't laugh aloud.

"You look gorgeous, by the way," he said sincerely, as they stopped at a traffic light. He leaned over and kissed her cheek. "Most beautiful bride I've ever seen."

She took a moment to see the humor in the situation, both of them in their wedding clothes, riding in a junky car to pick up her delinquent brother. A wave of emotion washed over her, and she smiled shakily at her groom.

"I love you," she said, her eyes watering.

"I love you too, Angel." And he kissed her with everything he had.

The car behind them had to honk at them when the light turned green.

A/N: Hope you enjoyed this chapter. I know a lot happened, but we are coming to the end of our fic, sadly. One more from starry19, then an epilogue from me. It was fun also trying to fit in stuff we know from canon. Some of you might be worried that this will end in tragedy, but we assure you it doesn't. We all know what happens to Angela and Charlotte, so no need to put us (or Jane) through that heartbreak again. It will end sometime before that.

A review would be great, so please log in and let us know your thoughts.

Also, I have another new story out right now. A lighter, more humorous fic entitled "The Red Planet." Chapter 2 of that will be up soon. I'd love for you to check it out!


	10. Conclusion and Epilogue

**AN:** Alright, confession time: I might have gotten a little teary-eyed as I wrote the end of this. I've become very attached to this story, and I'm sad to see it end.

A great big thank you to everyone who stuck with this! You all are amazing!

Donna will be posting an epilogue at the end of this chapter.

**Boy Wonder**

**Chapter Ten**

Looking back, years later, Angela would always remember her wedding as a bit of a blur. There had been so much build up to the actual day, and now it was _happening_. Of course, half the time she was busy being _unbelievably upset_ with Danny. She'd had a lot of dreams about her wedding day, and bailing her careless brother out of jail in her dress was not one of them.

And, despite what Danny thought, there was going to be no way of keeping their parents from knowing about a public intoxication charge, considering he was still a minor.

She had still been fuming just before she walked down the aisle, but then she heard her cue in the music, and looked down to see Patrick waiting for her. Yes, she had seen him less than an hour ago, but that was different. Now he was waiting to marry her.

She practically ran to the altar.

Their honeymoon was a four-day trip up the coast, staying in a different bed and breakfast every night. It was quaint, and Angela loved it. More than anything, she loved spending every waking and sleeping moment with Patrick.

Her husband.

The words still sounded strange in her mouth. She wasn't one of those girls who had ever aspired to be the young bride, married while still a teenager. In her experience, if you were hitched at such an age, you were either super religious or you were knocked up.

She was neither, but here she was, a ring on her finger, a matching band on Patrick's. And it all felt so unbelievably right that it sometimes took her breath away.

There was a dark cloud on her otherwise bright horizon, however. When they got back, they were going to tell her father that they were leaving.

It felt cold, doing it after he had just paid for their wedding, after everything he had done for them, but there was just no way around it. It was not going to be a fun experience, and she wondered how many bridges they were going to burn on their way out.

Someday, she hoped the damage could be repaired.

They were lying on the beach that was just off the back of their current hotel. Patrick had his head in her lap, drowsing after his botched attempt at surfing that morning. He hadn't been very good, but it had definitely been entertaining to watch.

Tonight was their last night on the road, hopefully one of their last, ever. She had been combing the local papers in Malibu, looking for apartments. It had been an alarming wake-up call, seeing the prices on decent places, and she had been forced to scale back her plans a bit.

Still, she was hopeful that their situation would only last a little while. Patrick was so unbelievably talented that she was sure his hard work would be rewarded.

She had made a few phone calls while they were on the road as well, getting herself officially registered for two classes in September. Western Civilization and Introduction to Psychology didn't sound particularly interesting, but it was a start.

"Where you do want to eat tonight, Angel?" Patrick asked sleepily, breaking into her thoughts.

"Wherever," she said casually. "I'm going to get fat if we keep this up." She thought it was true – they had eaten out for every meal, and she had definitely indulged. Her bikinis hadn't started to feel tighter yet, but she was sure it was only a matter of time.

"I promise to love you even if you're four hundred pounds," he murmured, hand running up the outside of her thigh.

"Well, let's hope I don't get to that extreme," she said, frowning. She leaned forward, kissing him lightly. "I'd like to think I could exercise a little self-control before that."

He stood abruptly, pulling her up with him. "Come on, Angel," he said with a wink. "Let's go work off some calories."

She felt the familiar rush of heat come over her, and she followed willingly, her eager smile giving her feelings away.

She would worry about what would happen with her father, her future, later. Right now, she was a newlywed, and there were just some moments you needed to be present for.

No matter what happened, life with Patrick Jane was her happy ever after.

XxXxXxXxX

It had not gone well with Teddy. To say he had been disappointed would be a massive understatement.

Angela had been in tears for much of the meeting, but to her credit, had kept a straight spine, her voice never breaking, resolve never wavering.

He wanted to take her hand, put an arm around her, but he had a feeling that the fragile control she had over herself would shatter if he went for comfort.

Like Angela had predicted, Teddy wasn't willing to finance their new life.

"If you're set on doing this, Angela, you and Patrick are doing it on your own." He had been very solemn, impressing the weight of his words on both of them.

"However, if you change your mind, put these crazy plans aside, I want you to know that my door will always be open." The emotion in Teddy's voice, the love, made Patrick feel almost choked up. This was what it was like to belong to a real family, to have someone care about you unconditionally.

In that moment, he vowed that he would do everything he could to make sure his children always knew that they would always have a place to call home.

When Angela was making one last run through the room she had used for the past summer, he took a second to try to express himself properly to his father-in-law.

"I just want to thank you," he said, knowing the words weren't nearly enough. "If it wasn't for you, I don't know where I'd be right now."

Teddy gave him a long, searching look. "This is a hell of a way to repay me, son," he finally replied. "Marrying my daughter and heading for the hills."

Patrick took a deep breath. "It was never my intention to leave," he said. "But I'm going to do everything in my power to make Angela happy, and if this is what she wants, I'm going to give it to her. Her happiness is worth more to me than…well, just about anything," he admitted sheepishly.

There was a flash of warmth in Teddy's eyes. "I appreciate your feelings," the older man said. "I've only ever wanted Angela's happiness, too. I'm just not sure you understand what you're getting yourself into."

Unexpectedly, Patrick laughed. "Oh, I know I have no idea what I'm getting myself into, and I'd be lying if I told you I wasn't worried. But," he went on, "the hows and the whys don't matter as much to me as who is going to be by my side."

They stayed in a Holiday Inn for the next three nights, using up some of their cash. There were cheaper places, yes, but Patrick didn't want Angela's first memories of the time they were on their own to be of dirty sheets and spiders in the shower.

On their first official day away from the carnival, they looked at three apartments, none of which were particularly spectacular. Angela maintained her excited demeanor throughout, however, and it was infectious. She was so eager to find something that would really be their home that she looked past the peeling paint and the bizarre stains on the carpet and saw what a place could be.

She had made up her mind that she was going to be happy with whatever they came up with, and she was trying to make good on that.

They signed a year lease for a small place on the outskirts of Malibu. One bedroom, one bathroom, and neighbors that liked to argue at all hours of the night.

For the first few days, it felt like they were playing house. Angela took great delight in stocking the cupboards and refrigerators, taking care to hide her worry at how expensive the grocery bill was. They picked up some second-hand furniture and cheap art for the walls at Goodwill, and with the inclusion of a few of their wedding photos, even he had to admit that the place was feeling like home.

He found a small place to rent near the tourist part of the city, using up even more of their dwindling cash supply. Angela's tuition and textbooks took even more, and as much as he hated it, she got a job waiting tables at the small restaurant down the street.

In addition to his hours at the psychic shop, he moonlighted at the local grocery store, helping with inventory and deliveries. As it turned out, he really didn't care for what most people would call "an honest day's work," but he kept reminding himself that it kept a roof over their heads, and that was the important thing.

He wondered how Angela was really holding up. She was so used to not just having enough, but having much more than she wanted that their current situation was probably wearing on her. He had a feeling that times would get even tougher yet before they started looking up.

His prediction turned out to be true.

Angela cried the first time a bill came that they couldn't pay immediately. He didn't want to tell her that he'd warned her, but instead, he held her against his shoulder as the tears fell.

"We'll be okay," he murmured. "This is just temporary, I promise."

She fell asleep that way, looking like an exhausted child, and he carried her to bed, wishing the sheets were a higher thread count, but still remembering to be grateful that they were together.

Of course, they could be lying on satin in the best trailer money could buy right now, and though Angela might not have been thrilled to be there, he doubted she would have been crying herself to sleep.

In the morning, she didn't mention a thing and was determinedly cheerful, but he noticed they ate off-brand macaroni and cheese for the next three nights.

When her classes started, their time together was stretched very thin, and no one slept much. He lost track of the times he came home to find her asleep at their tiny kitchen table, face pressed against the open pages of a massive textbook. One of these days, she was going to crash.

The psychic shop wasn't doing as well as he'd hoped, additionally. In a place like Malibu, tiny spaces like his came and went with the seasons, and there was nothing about his rented office that made it stand out. It was something he was going to need to work on, maybe look into some sort of advertising. But all of that cost money, something that was in precious supply these days.

He just had to keep going forward and hope their luck was going to change.

XxXxXxXxX

Every day, it was more and more of an effort to pull herself together. Between working double shifts and trying to maintain a halfway decent GPA, it felt like she was stretched as far as any one person could be.

In the beginning of December, she realized abruptly that she was four days late.

When she put the pieces together, she nearly passed out.

They _could not_ have a baby now. Could not.

They were barely making it as it was, living on Ramen noodles and whatever she brought home from the restaurant. A baby would be too much. There would be cribs and hospital visits and diapers and so many other things that she couldn't even imagine.

She would have to quit school, that much was certain. They certainly couldn't pay tuition anymore. And she would need to pick up a second job for the next few months, try to add to their meager bank account.

God, this was impossible. _Impossible_.

Worked into knots, she slept fitfully that night, curling into Patrick's arms when he came in around midnight.

"You're freezing," he murmured, pulling the blanket around her shoulders. "You should have turned the heat up, Angel."

Burying her face in his chest, she waited for his warmth to touch her, to take away some of the despair she felt. This would be the end of their dream. They would probably be forced to go back to the carnival, bring their child up in the lifestyle she so detested.

So it made no sense, none whatever, that when she got her period the next afternoon, she sobbed, feeling like her heart had broken, feeling like the weight of a golden haired child had been snatched from her arms.

Patrick could tell something was wrong, naturally, but he didn't bring it up, trusting that if it was serious, she would let him in.

And, in her darker moments, she thought that it truly wasn't anything. It was just nothing.

It had always been nothing.

She just wished she could convince her heart of that.

In February, Patrick booked his first private party. He had sufficiently impressed enough people that a group of middle-aged housewives decided to have some fun one evening and engage his services.

Angela thought it was adorable that he was actually nervous.

"This is your thing," she reminded him, straightening his tie. "This is what you do. And I don't think I've ever seen you so wound up before a show, and you were performing in front of a hundred people then."

He smiled with nerves. "I know," he said, "but this is a big deal. I found out that these women are part of the well-to-do crowd here, and if it goes well with them, who knows what could come out of this? But if I screw it up, well, I've blown a huge opportunity."

She grabbed both of his hands, forcing him to stop twisting his wedding ring anxiously. "You aren't going to screw this up, Wonder Boy," she whispered, standing on her tip toes to kiss him lightly. "I believe in you."

His grin turned genuine then, and he pulled her back for another, warmer kiss. "Well, then, how could I possibly fail?"

However, his fretting had worn off on her, so she stayed up until well past one in the morning, waiting for him to get home. When she heard the rattle of keys, she sat up, heart in her throat. _Please let it have gone well._

The look on his face told her everything she needed to know.

"See?!" she crowed, flinging her arms around his neck. "I _told_ you!"

He laughed aloud, swinging her in a circle, right in the middle of their tiny living room. "You did, Angel, and you were right. Of the ten ladies there, eight paid extra for private readings, and three of them booked their own private parties."

Her jaw dropped, just a little. "Damn, Patrick. When you knock one out of the park, you really knock one out of the park."

He chuckled again, then hoisted her up over his shoulder. "Let's go celebrate."

There was no looking back from that point.

Though they could, by no means, be described as wealthy, Angela finally felt like she had some breathing room. She quit losing sleep over whether they could make rent or pay bills, didn't feel sick when she thought about tuition or textbooks.

By the time summer rolled around, Patrick was definitely considered a local hit, and the tourists started flocking to him as well.

When their lease was up, they moved into a townhouse in a nice part of town. It was no mansion, but the walls were thicker and the windows were new and they could afford to buy a few pieces of furniture that no one else had ever used.

Their first year of marriage had been a trial, but they had survived.

The first time someone from a television station had called, she almost had a heart attack.

"They want you to do what?" she'd asked, watching him pace excitedly around the kitchen.

"They want me to be on _live_, Angela, and do readings for their audience." Patrick was practically vibrating. "Now, I know it's just a local station, but this is amazing exposure."

His smile was catching, and the corners of her mouth turned up, too. "It's been a while since you've done that sort of show," she commented. "Maybe you could go get your turban out for old times' sake?"

He winked. "Only if you dress up like a harem girl, sweetheart."

Two months after his first TV appearance, Patrick signed a lease on a bigger space in Malibu. It was much more centrally located, and offered features like air conditioning that always worked. With her blessing, he'd splurged and gotten a neon sign.

However, he left of the adjectives and superlatives when he set up shop. The awning above the door simply read _Patrick Jane, Psychic Medium_.

She was so proud of him she thought her heart might burst.

"You've come a long way," she told him, standing on the sidewalk and looking up at the blue and white striped canvas.

With a sentimental smile, he draped an arm around her shoulders. "I would never have done this, any of this, if it hadn't been for you."

She kissed his cheek, still admiring the building. "I'm glad I walked in on you knocking boots with a local Lolita," she teased, and he laughed.

"Well, I'm glad we agreed to be in a fake relationship," he said. "A real one would be so much work, don't you think?"

It was her turn to giggle.

Although it shouldn't have surprised her, the number of women who made valiant attempts to come onto Patrick kept growing. It didn't seem to matter how old they were, or that he was married, or that _they_ were married. Some simply assumed that his ring was for show, or that his apparent gift let him off the hook when it came to things like morals.

She wasn't worried, however. She trusted him implicitly, and was absolutely confident that he would never break his vows.

It certainly didn't stop some women from trying, but he got rather good at avoiding certain situations.

When August rolled around again, they got a phone call from Danny, letting them know that they carnival was going to be in town for a few days.

She had seen precious little of her family since she had made the decision to leave. Well, that wasn't precisely true. Her mother visited frequently, not being particularly far away, and Madeline Ruskin had no intention of letting some silly disagreement affect her relationship with her daughter.

Angela rather thought that Teddy was still hoping she and Patrick would come back, admitting that they had been wrong. Danny, as much as Teddy loved him, probably wasn't cut out to really take over the business in its entirety. There were too many details to keep track of, paperwork to do, executive decisions to be made. Even before they'd left, she'd thought that perhaps Danny simply wasn't meant to be the heir.

She figured that's why the double blow of losing both her and Patrick had caused some silence from her father.

Things were a bit tense when they all met up again. Angela had chosen the fairgrounds for this, much to Patrick's surprise. "I figured you'd want them on your home turf," he said.

She shrugged. "That's my home turf, too."

Danny looked huge, unbelievably grown up, and her father…well, looked the same as he ever did.

"I've seen posters about you all over this damn town," he told Patrick, "so I figure you must be doing all right."

He smiled with some modesty. "Things have really started to take off this past year," he said. "I admit, the first little bit was rough, but I feel like things are rolling now."

"Just don't let the show get stale, son," Teddy warned. "Keep looking for new ways to draw 'em in."

They had passed an enjoyable evening at the fair, Angela eating way too much cotton candy and Patrick winning her an overstuffed teddy bear.

When the show packed up in three days' time, it was with Teddy promising to keep in better contact, and she felt a weight easing from her chest, one she hadn't been aware she was carrying until it was gone.

In the fall of that year, she transferred to the Malibu campus of Pepperdine University, her grades managing to hold up. It was a very different experience than community college had been.

Most of her classmates there had been in similar situations – working, married, busy with actual life.

At Pepperdine, she was sitting next to students that still lived in the dorms and whose parents paid for everything. She remembered that _that_ could have been her life, too, probably _would_ have been actually, if she hadn't been silly enough to fall into the arms of Patrick Jane.

Not that she would trade him, never that, but it did make her wonder.

All of those thoughts were forgotten, however, when Patrick surprised her with diamond earrings or made her something sinfully good for dinner. In their first year of marriage, they hadn't had the money to eat out, ever, so cooking was another skill he had picked up. Like he needed more talents.

That Christmas, Patrick's gift to her was wrapped in a flat box and felt strangely light. She tugged the ribbons off with a bemused expression, then opened the package.

Inside, there was a sheaf of papers, very official looking papers, filled with the sort of legal language that made her eyes cross.

"What's this?" she asked, flipping through sheets in a confused manner.

He smiled, but there was an edge to it, as though he wasn't sure what her reaction was going to be.

"It's a deed," he told her, "to a piece of land on the coast."

She looked up, eyes wide. "What?"

"We won't be able to afford to put a house on it for a few more years," he said quickly, "and I spent more than I probably should have, but beach front lots don't come up for sale often around here, and I know you've always wanted to live right by the water-"

His explanation was abruptly cut off as she threw herself at him, shrieking with happiness. "You bought me a _house_," she squealed in between frantic kisses.

He laughed, arms going around her. "Actually, I bought you a piece of dirt," he corrected, "that will someday have a house on it." As he described the details of it, she could see his eyes gloss over a little.

Despite his insistence that this was her present, she knew this was just as much for him. This would be their forever house, the four walls that they turned into a home, where they raised their children and grew old together.

"I love you," she told him, meaning it more now than she ever had.

"I love you more," he replied, echoing her words from the very first time he had confessed his feelings.

And though she doubted it was true, she certainly had no problem with letting him try to prove it.

For the next, oh, sixty years or so.

_**Epilogue**_

_**Malibu, California, 2013**_

When they'd gotten the call for a case in Malibu, Lisbon had hesitated telling Jane about it, but in their new spirit of honesty and sharing, she'd told him anyway. He had come along, following behind in his Citroen, even after she'd assured him no one would say a word—least of all her—if he decided to sit this one out.

So, after he'd examined the body and the crime scene and given his conclusions, she wasn't surprised when he'd disappeared. She gave him the rest of the afternoon to turn up at the motel, but he hadn't, and, like second nature, she began to worry. The case had been a young woman, badly beaten and ultimately stabbed, and Lisbon feared what this might have triggered in him so close to home. So, she dropped the team off at the motel and drove toward the ocean.

Jane's Citroen was parked in the driveway of his house, which stood dark and lonely against the evening sky. She knocked on the door, called his name, but when he didn't answer after a few minutes, her heart in her throat, she turned the doorknob.

The teapot on the stove was still hot, and she let out the breath she'd been holding. He wasn't in the house, but then she saw him on the back deck. He was jacketless, sitting so his bare feet dangled over the sand ten feet below, sipping his tea and watching the sunset. The wind ruffled his hair, the fading sunlight burnishing it to a rich gold, and she could hear the crashing of the waves as the tide came in. She opened the sliding glass door.

"Good evening, Lisbon," he said without turning around.

"Why didn't you answer me, or my calls?" she accused more harshly than she'd intended, for her heart was still pounding from the tension of moments before.

_I was worried_.

But she didn't say that aloud; she knew he would already know that.

"I figured you'd find me eventually, you being such a good detective and all. The teapot's still hot if you'd like to join me in a cup."

She walked over to stand behind him, taking deep gulps of the sea air, willing herself to relax now. He was okay.

"No, thanks."

He shrugged. "Suit yourself."

She sat by him, mimicking his pose, admiring the beauty of the California sunset.

"Are you all right?" she asked softly.

"Yes, actually, much to my surprise. I'm not usually all right when I'm here."

Lisbon was surprised at his admission. He seldom admitted to any specific emotion. She held her breath again, hoping he might continue.

After several moments, he chuckled quietly, and turned to look at her for the first time since she'd stepped out onto the redwood deck.

"Using your old CBI interview techniques, eh? If you stay quiet long enough, the suspect feels the need to fill the silence, and hopefully confesses."

Lisbon smiled guiltily. "Hey, I'm just enjoying the nice view and the fresh air."

"You're still a bad liar, but I'll indulge you." He sighed, and then he began to talk. "I was just thinking about when Angela and I moved into this house. She was six months pregnant with Charlotte…"

He spoke for thirty minutes straight, and Lisbon didn't dare interrupt him with questions, fearful he'd re-cork the bottle and he'd be trapped inside it for another ten years. She doubted he'd told a soul before this night the story of his life with Angela, then with Charlotte, and it made her feel infinitely privileged that he'd chosen her.

Once he'd gotten started, he didn't seem to be able to stop. She laughed at the image of him as a kid in a turban, smiled at how Angela had turned him on to tea. She had to shake her head at the impulsive kids they had been, striking out on their own with next to nothing. As she watched his face in the waning light, Lisbon witnessed for the first time since she'd known him what true happiness looked like on Patrick Jane's face. She felt her heart squeeze with the bitter- sweetness of it.

He stopped his narrative at a point perhaps two years before their deaths, and she was glad of that. She already knew that part of the story by heart.

"Thank you for sharing that with me," she said shyly, when it was obvious he was finished.

He smiled. "I'm sorry if I bored you. I'm not sure why I went off like that…"

"It's good you can remember the happy times," she said bravely.

"Actually, the closer I get to finding Red John, the more often I think of those days. Funny, huh?"

"No, because you can see that one day soon, you will be free."

Her words hung between them in the cooling darkness, and she wondered if she had said the wrong thing. She could no longer see his expression, and he turned away from her to look out over the ocean.

"I will never be free, Teresa," he whispered, and she barely heard it over the loudness of the surf.

She wanted to tell him so many things. That he had the power to free himself from this prison of vengeance. That hearing about Angela confirmed to her that she wouldn't have wanted him to torture himself in this way, that life was truly a blessing. That he deserved happiness after all the pain he'd suffered. That there was a woman who would love him as much as Angela had, if he would only let her. Perhaps what he said was a warning not to get her hopes up, but Lisbon was a woman of faith, and she believed one day he would be free to find love again.

So many things she could say at that moment, but she knew he still wasn't ready to hear them, let alone live them. Instead, she leaned her head on his shoulder, and waited with him until he was ready to leave.

**THE END**

**A/N: Donna here. Hoped you enjoyed my epilogue! Just wanted to thank you all again for reading our story. If you liked it, tell your friends to give it a chance. I'd like to thank starry19 for all her beautiful work that helped make mine look good. She's the best, and I know we'll work together in the future (a Jane/Lisbon fic, we promise :) **

**On a personal note, if you enjoyed this story, you might like another I wrote with Angela in it entitled, "The Ghost and Mr. Jane." Angela is the ghost, of course, but I promise it isn't cheesy and I wrote Angela in much the same way as she is in this story. But it is very much a Jisbon fic. Please check it out if you haven't read it already. Thanks again for all your lovely reviews! See you next time!**


End file.
